By Royal Decree
by rthstewart
Summary: A corset is a lie and a fiction and the fiction may be better than the reality. Unless, you are the Just King and you aren't going to take it anymore. Seasonal allergies; taxes; reflections on clotted cream. Golden Age.
1. Chapter 1 Under Siege

**_By Royal Decree_**  
**Chapter 1: Under Siege**

"A woman in a corset is a lie, a falsehood, a fiction, but for us, this fiction is better than the reality." Eugene Chapus, French Writer.

The following stand alone spun itself out from Edmund's rants about corsets in Chapters 5 and 7 of _The Stone Gryphon_, my current work in progress. The Just King demanded the opportunity to explain his rationale more fully. The Gentle Queen, however, has insisted that the countervailing arguments be heard as well. Aslan help us, they need a family therapist.

Insofar as taxes and seasonal allergies are concerned, the Just King is channeling the author in this month of April.

Rated T for very inappropriate conversation.

Still not King. Still don't own this and I never shall. With gratitude and admiration to the creator of The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis. I claim no ownership interest whatsoever in any derivative fiction I write, and never have. Any original content in my derivative fiction is in the public domain and may be used freely and without notice to me or attribution.

_By Royal Decree_ was written prior to _The Palace Guard_ but is actually set chronologically 3 years after that story.

* * *

King Edmund the Just, Duke of Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table wanted, no _needed_, hot tea. He needed plenty of it, laced with honey and lemon.

Edmund sneezed.

Spring. Bleh. Dryads. Gah. Dryads and their infernal pollination. He woke up every lovely, clear, blooming Spring day with an achy head, drippy nose, and the strong desire to remove his eyes from his head and scrub them clean. Mornings were always the worse. The dryads would be out cavorting in the early hours. Judging from the door slams before dawn today, his brother and at least one of his sisters had been gamboling about with the tree nymphs as well. That enthusiasm likely explained why there seemed to be even more yellow pollen dust about his bed chamber than usual.

Edmund sneezed again, a mighty, if not nearly magnificent one, as befitting his rank and titles. Another sneeze like that one and he might break a rib, or lose the ability to solve geometry proofs. Maybe the next sneeze would make him forget Lone Island taxation tables.

Blast, he could see the little motes of pollen dust hanging suspended in his room, dancing in the morning light, mocking him. Nyah! Nyah! You have to breathe us! We make your lungs burn! Hold your breath until summer!

Edmund sneezed. Unfortunately, he could still remember the luxury goods tax rate of the Lone Islands (it was two percent). Maybe Susan would take pity on him in his misery, and he could get her to figure out the arcane regressive tax code they had inherited from Prior Management.

His most Royal Siblings were not handicapped as he was. They did not suffer. Oh no, they could run about, frolic as they wished in the pleasant Spring, and return home coated in dust. They could keep their windows open all night. Putting their clothes out to dry on the lines would not induce in them a paroxysm of coughing. They did not suffer as he. They were not allergic to tree pollen.

Rain. We need a good rain. And palm trees. Edmund didn't think he was allergic to palm trees.

Edmund sneezed and stumbled out of his room, still recalling the sales tax rates on Doorn and Avra (four and one half percent) and near frantic for hot tea with lemon and honey.

Vaguely, he was aware of Jalur, his Tiger Guard falling in step behind him. Jalur was quiet, even for a solitary animal. This suited them both well for Edmund did not wish to make polite conversation on Spring mornings, and Jalur preferred silence altogether.

"Morning, Jalur," Edmund croaked out through a raw throat.

"Good morning, your Majesty."

They padded together down the hall to the south stair. At the landing, Edmund saw a thin, hairless tail whisk about the corner. Jalur too, Guard that he was, tracked the Rat.

"We saw you, Good Lady," the Tiger rumbled.

A wriggling nose peeked back around the turn, followed by the rest of her.

"Of course you did," Willa sniffed. "If I hadn't wanted you to see me, you wouldn't have."

Anxious though he was for a hot drink, his morning security briefing took priority. Edmund joined Lady Willa on the stairs, he sitting three treads down so that they might confer eye to eye. Jalur withdrew a few paces.

"What news, Friend?"

"I regret to report no invasions by land or sea," Willa responded, disappointment lacing her squeaky tone. She was bloodthirsty for action, and took ghoulish glee in reporting numbers of horses, spears and sails. Casualty rates in field hospitals were her particular delight.

"Alas, for that," Edmund agreed solemnly. _Perhaps I can enjoy a breakfast in peace._

"A delegation of Red Dwarfs should arrive by the noon hour to escort the High King to the Southern border to inspect their road work." Good dirty fun for Peter; the High King loved mucking about with Dwarfs, mud and mortar.

"A Grove of Willows intends to seek the assistance of the Queen Lucy in negotiating the terms for location of a Beaver lodge on a tributary of the Telmar River." Dicey that, given how fond Beavers were of willow. "Queen Susan has, again, asked the Otter Romp south of the Castle at the pond to cease harassing the bathers." Bloody Otters.

"Two Bluebird Hens and one Cardinal Hen are petitioning Your Majesties for aid claiming that their Cocks are neglecting to provide adequate assistance to the nestlings." Willa curled her lip in mild irritation at this one, as did they all. The springtime relational squabbles of the Songbirds were simply not worth the bother; the Birds had no one to blame but themselves.

"Thank you, Lady. Have the morning letters arrived yet?"

"Yes, my King. There are seven letters from various Delegations for the Queen Susan. The High King received three pieces, one of which stank of rose water."

Love letters. Ugh.

"Queen Lucy received personal correspondence from Avra, Galma, and Archenland, as well six letters from within Narnia. You have received five letters, three of which are very large and heavy."

"Do any stink?"

"No, King Edmund, except of the usual."

Excellent. However, the large ones meant that at least one minister had tried filling in the blanks on Susan or Peter's draft courtship treaties. Edmund had written the treaties and contracts to be legally dense, near impenetrable, to ward off the idiots. It was very nearly an aptitude test. The Lord or Lady (or his or her advisor) who was smart enough to muddle through the documents and respond intelligently was someone he _might _consider admitting into the Narnian family. Maybe.

"And my brother and sisters? What of them this morning?"

"The High King and the Queen Lucy were out with the dryads this morning." _Too much energy. Both of them_.

"The High King was then committed to a morning ride with the Princess Dim. He has not yet returned."

Even better. Maybe she'd fall off the horse into the Romp and the Otters would shred her to pieces for breakfast.

"Princess Even More Dim is breakfasting with the Queens."

"Blast," Edmund muttered. Behind him, he heard Jalur growl.

Willa reached behind her ear with a leg and scratched. "And no, your Majesty, I shall not agree to run up the skirts of the Princess Even More Dim so she will run away shrieking and allow you to avoid her at table."

"Scamper across her plate and dip your splendid tail into her morning juice?"

"Certainly not," the Rat replied with dignity.

"Jalur," Edmund called to the Tiger. "Would you like to fake a toothache and flash your canines at the Princess Even More Dim?"

The Tiger's tail twitched with displeasure. After a very long, deliberative pause, he murmured, "Only if you command me to do so, your Majesty."

"See, Willa. That's a Soldier's obedience to his Liege."

"If you desire obedience, King Edmund, I do not recommend a Rat," Willa retorted.

Edmund withdrew a walnut from his pocket. Willa's nose twitched appreciatively. "Thank you, Lady."

Taking the fat nut between her teeth, Willa scampered off, passed Jalur, and down the hall.

Nose running, Edmund resisted the urge to just use his sleeve, and pulled a handkerchief from the same pocket where he had kept the walnut. He caused enough grief for the washers already between the ink stains on his sleeves and the dried meat, nuts, honeyed dates, and shinys he kept in his pockets for his Rats and Crows.

"Well, Jalur, I suppose there's nothing for it," Edmund said after a time. "Perhaps she will have left already?" he asked the Tiger hopefully.

The Tiger's nostrils flared, likely catching a scent. "Regrettably, no, your Majesty. The Princess Even More Dim is still at table and, if I may offer an opinion?"

"Of course."

"You are in need of a restorative this morning and your Royal Sisters would undoubtedly appreciate your assistance."

"Appeals to my own welfare and that of the Queens, eh, Jalur? You sure you are not a Rat in disguise?"

"I admit," the Tiger said blandly, "that time in your presence and theirs has not left me unscathed." Jalur rose from his dim corner, strolled to the stair and gave him a rather forceful push in the back. "Shall we?"

With a sigh as profound as if preparing for battle (and he really would prefer a fair fight, come to think of it), Edmund rose and headed down to breakfast.

On entering the sunroom, Edmund's nose immediately noticed that the windows were open. He sneezed. (Tariffs were one percent of declared value on all goods incoming from Calormen.)

"Good morning, Edmund!" his sisters crowed. Susan and Lucy were sitting next to each other, opposite the Princess Even More Dim, whose back was to him. There were two empty chairs, one on each side of hers.

"Good morning, King Edmund!" the Princess trilled and turning slightly, patted the seat on her right. Shooting his sisters a glare, Edmund made toward the table, only his desperation for tea sufficient for him to endure the punishment of a meal with the woman.

"Good morning Princess E…" Oh Aslan. He'd forgotten her real name. "Good morning Briony, Lambert." The bonded Wolf pair who served as his sisters' personal Guards nodded their greeting.

Jalur stalked to his own quiet station. No one expected the solitary Tiger to be particularly cordial.

Edmund slipped into the chair, trying to divine why his sisters seemed so very amused. Lucy was staring at her plate, a smile on her face. Susan seemed … expectant.

The morning correspondence lay at their elbows; the Queens would not wish to conduct personal and Narnian business when Princess Even More Dim was with them.

"Princess Peony, I'm sure King Edmund would like some tea," Susan said. "Would you pour, please?"

Peony. That was her name. The other one was Rose. Or maybe it was Jonquil. Petunia? Dogwood? Cactus?

"Why certainly!"

Edmund turned to his would-be hostess, sliding his cup over. "Thank…"

He was staring right into Even More Dim's Very Ample Cleavage.

Huge.

Enormous.

They were Melons spilling out over a gown far too small and too snug to manage the feat without substantial structural support. They were unencumbered by such trivial matters as the laws of physics and mechanics. The engineering involved in the sustained elevation of this mass was something that a Beaver or Dwarf would have been proud to execute.

"Thank you," he managed as the Breasts poured the teat … tea.

"Lemon?" The Breasts asked.

"Please, and honey." He managed to spit out.

"Would you like milk with your tea, Edmund?" Susan asked, with polite archness in her tone. Lucy snickered under her breath. They both knew he did not take milk in his teat … tea.

"No thank you," he muttered through gritted teeth.

"Are you certain, brother?" Lucy sputtered.

"_**Very**_."

Edmund managed to fix his tea without further interruption, savoring the soothing warmth.

"Has Peter breakfasted yet?"

He meant to speak to his sisters, but Flower piped in. "No, King Edmund. The High King is still out riding with my sister." She sounded quite winded by the exertion of speaking a full sentence.

"Are you well, Princess Peony?" Susan asked with concern.

"Oh, very well, Queen Susan," the Princess cooed back, the same breathless quality in her voice. "Perhaps a trifle lightheaded, the morning, but nothing of concern. It shall pass."

_If you hadn't cinched yourself into a corset tighter than a snake's skin, perhaps you could breathe. _Edmund realized he had very nearly said it aloud.

His head must be clearing if, on less than one cup of tea, he was willing to criticize a Princess at breakfast for her undergarment selection.

Edmund reached for some bread. It seemed as if the distance suddenly lengthened, like a strange dream where the hallway with the door at the end stretches on and on, forever out of reach. By necessity, he had to reach far around to steer wide of the copious mound on his left.

Oddly, it seemed _all_ the breakfast dishes were on his left. Just. Out. Of. Reach.

He shot his devious sisters a very stern look.

He gave up. "Toast please?"

"Of course, King Edmund. My pleasure!"

The bread magically appeared. Unfortunately, the white watermelons that delivered it did not.

They were resting very near his left arm.

Edmund moved his arm away. The Breasts followed, like a kite on a string. What were They? Disembodied? With a will of Their own?

He tried buttering his toast, but there just didn't seem to be room enough on that side of the table for the five of them; his right and left hands, his molested left arm, and the Breasts of Doom. _Battering Ram_, he thought. Yes, there might be some applicability there. They certainly were persistent, and very nearly as large. Had they always been this monstrous size? Perhaps it was an allergic reaction resulting in swelling?

Or, he thought, sourly, and then with mounting anger, this Dim Wit really thinks lacing herself into that thing around her waist and forcing her cleavage into a man's arms is going to accomplish anything other than ruining my teat … tea.

Edmund reached for the tea pot, wanting to warm his cup and considering his strategic options.

"Oh, allow me," the Breasts heaved, and then _landed on top of his left arm_.

That did it. With his right hand still mercifully free, he faked to one side, and instead of going for the teapot, grabbed the untouched ewer of juice. With the glee of vindication, Edmund dumped the whole of it down the far too tight bodice of Princess Even More Dim.

"Oh!" she gasped, fainted dead away, and slumped unceremoniously to the floor.

Edmund sneezed. Into the most blessed shocked silence that followed, he asked, "Tea, anyone?"

* * *

Chapter 2 – The Counter Attack

_In which the High King makes his views known and there is yet more inappropriate conversation. _First, I have to do my taxes.


	2. Chapter 2 The Counter Attack

**By Royal Decree  
****Chapter 2: The Counter Attack**

_In which the High King makes his views known and there is yet more inappropriate conversation.  
_Rated T for inappropriate conversation and reflections on clotted cream.

* * *

It took some minutes before normalcy and breakfast resumed.

Edmund resolutely refused to stir from his seat, except to help Mr. Hoberry, the Faun, mop up the juice. Lucy was uncooperative as well. Susan might have been authoritative and threatening, except that even his more mannerly older sister could not keep her mouth from twitching at the corners. The Gentle Queen had a dry wit and a demanding temperament. She appreciated dim Princesses no more than he.

A gasping, staggering, soggy, sticky Princess was escorted to her rooms by a solicitous Red Dwarfess and Dryad (fortunately for Edmund, a female ash tree who did not shed pollen).

"And Mrs. Furner?" Edmund said to the Dwarfess. "Please speak to whoever is assisting the Princess in her dressing. _**We**_ are _**not**_ to be so disturbed again. It is indecorous, and if the Princess attempts to contradict _**My**_ Command, she shall address _**Me**_ directly."

Mrs. Furner gave him a wink that spoke volumes as to the state of things in the Guest Quarters. She bobbed a half curtsey and hurried after the Even More Dim, Soggy Sticky Princess.

Freedom. Edmund spread out at the table, no longer smothered by the Breasts of Doom, poured himself another, hard-earned, hard-won cup, and dug into a plate of eggs. He was very pleased with himself.

It seemed rather silent though. He finally looked up from his morning correspondence, just as he was thinking of further modifications to the terms and conditions under which visiting, courting Princesses would be permitted to disrupt his breakfasts in the future.

"What?" he asked. Susan was staring at him with a rather firm expression. Lucy was ignoring them both, contentedly reading her letters. Lucy had many, many friends; happily the vast majority of them did not wear corsets.

"Edmund!"

"That is my name, Gentle Queen."

"That was truly uncalled for."

He thought of trying to pin her down as to the precise nature of her displeasure, but that would be to no purpose except to annoy her further. Regardless, he was not in a mood for censure.

"No, Sister," he replied equally unyielding. "I have no fault here. I was provoked and responded appropriately."

"You deem dumping a beverage down a visiting guest's clothing an appropriate response?" Susan countered, disbelief colouring her voice.

"At least it wasn't the hot tea," Lucy added helpfully.

Edmund smiled in gratitude at this support from his younger sister.

"Simply put, Susan, in my view, I have not gone far enough. I've a mind to ban that sort of thing altogether."

"What sort of thing?" she responded archly. "Visiting dignitaries?"

"Of course not. Improper dress. Corsets, specifically."

Susan stared at him in shock, half wondering, undoubtedly, if he was serious. His sister, however, knew him very well, and ascertained quickly that this was no passing jest.

"Edmund, _really_!" Susan sniffed most disapprovingly. "Has your sense of humour and tolerance utterly deserted you? You cannot ban an article of clothing because a person wearing one annoyed you."

She knew better than to tell him what he could and could not do. "Why ever not?" he countered. "King Edmund _the Just_. It is in my name you see. Just. Justice, as in the quality of being just; righteousness, equitableness, or moral rightness; to uphold the justice of a cause, the administering of deserved punishment or reward; and the maintenance or administration of what is just by law, as by judicial, legislative, or other proceedings; also, a court of justice."

He loved rattling off that dictionary definition; it gave him such latitude – far more than Valiant, Gentle, or Magnificent.

"To whit, Gentle Queen, I most certainly _can_ ban corsets in Narnia."

"You are mad."

"Yes," Edmund agreed amiably. "I _am_ mad. Hacked off. Fed up. Sick to death of it. I am infuriated that women in Our Court continue to wear this ridiculous article of clothing. It is plainly an instrument of women's oppression, prevents the wearer of obtaining a proper breath, and serves no other purpose than to pander to the baser instincts of men. I will no longer tolerate it. I shall issue a decree as soon as I may and in a fortnight, we shall have a splendid bonfire and burn them."

He really was warming to the idea. No more women's breasts being thrust about except where they should be thrust about. Certainly not at breakfast. Unless, perhaps a very intimate dining occasion (clotted cream, perhaps?) where such things as a corset the participants would have abandoned some considerable time before. Come to think of it, from the masculine perspective, a corset was merely an obstacle to be overcome on the way to the greater mysteries. Getting rid of the corset beforehand would speed that process along nicely. He pushed that thought aside for now. Not relevant.

Susan tried another tactic, an appeal as it were to Higher Authority. "What of Peter? Should you not consult with him on this?"

"I see no reason why I should. Remember, King Edmund the J-U-S-T. By right and duty, I may do so. Indeed, as the defender of all that is Just, I am well within the boundaries of My authority to forbid something that is so patently _unjust_ to women."

"But perhaps our Royal Brother appreciates their effects."

Silly sister. She did not know Peter as Edmund did. "Our Brother would never be so superficial, nor condone so noxious a practice, most particularly if its elimination might reduce the incidence of swooning."

Even Susan had to smile, albeit grudgingly, at that. Princesses and other well-born ladies were well known to simply faint dead away in the presence of the High King. Lucy often said that she should follow her eldest brother about with a broom and shovel to sweep up the female carcasses left in his wake. Edmund had offered to push the dustbin.

"Well, yes," the Gentle Queen conceded. "There is that. Nevertheless, I believe Peter would wish to know of this."

"I think not, Susan. I, unlike you, know our brother's preferences. The High King is a leg man."

Lucy could pretend disinterest no longer. She burst out laughing, and had to cover her face with a napkin to prevent her spewing tea across the table.

"Honestly, Edmund, you are going too far this time," Susan grumbled. (She obviously did not know of his efforts to put thigh circumference limitations into their brother's courtship treaties. Neither did Peter, for that matter; he just signed where Edmund told him to. The bliss of ignorance under such circumstances was a beautiful thing.)

When her sister had recovered, Susan directed her argument to that quarter. "Lucy, you have been quite silent on this. Perhaps you would wish to offer your views?"

"No," the Valiant Queen said, having calmed herself enough to return to her still uneaten breakfast. "I do not believe I shall."

"Why ever not?"

"Corsets are … how shall I phrase this … a rather theoretical matter for me. To wear them, a woman must have something to put _in_ them." Lucy glanced down her front with a rather saucy grin. "So, Susan, it is for you to _hold_ _up_ the argument in their favor."

"Well said, Sister!" Edmund thumped the table.

"That is most unfair of you, Lucy." To Edmund, Susan said, "Justice may be your province, Brother, but you may not simply issue an edict banning something in Our Country. It is not democratic."

"We are a monarchy, Susan! In theory, we may do whatever we wish. Regardless, were we to put this to a referendum, do you think any Native Narnians would care?" He turned in his seat to address their assembled Guard. "Jalur, Briony, Lambert, my Good Beasts. Do you care whether or not we have corsets in Narnia?"

Jalur curled his lip, exposing a long fang to spectacular effect. Deeming that a vote in the "nay" category, Edmund turned to the Wolves, "Friends, what say you?"

The Wolves looked at one other. Briony, the She-Wolf of Lucy's Guard, finally spoke. "King Edmund, I would only point out that for us corsets are, as with My Valiant Queen, a concern that is most speculative in nature."

Her Mate, Lambert spoke, in a deeper, more sonorous voice. "I believe also that opposable thumbs would be necessary to accomplish the task of wearing one, yes?"

"Unanimous!" Edmund declared. "I shall begin drafting immediately."

"Edmund, that is _hardly_ representative of Narnian citizenry. What of the Dryads for instance?"

"Susan, the Dryads are _trees_. If they need additional support, they put a stake in the ground! In human form, they don't wear any artificial clothing at all!" For which, when they weren't pollinating, he was extremely appreciative. In an artistic sort of way, of course.

"The Centauresses and Dwarf women then. My point, Edmund is that…"

From the entry, Edmund heard the clip of toenails on the tile floor, and then a pell mell, tumble, bumble scramble and squeals of "Mummy, pluuuhhzzzz…."

He turned about in his seat to see Jina, Lady Hound of the Palace Pack, trot into the breakfast room, her litter of six puppies trailing behind her. The puppies were all whining most pitifully.

"Good morning, your Majesties," Jina said politely. "If I may intrude upon you, I wished to present to you my children."

"Of course, please do so, Jina," Lucy said as Susan nodded.

"Mummy….."

"Children," Jina snapped. "Manners!

The six puppies, five black, tan and white like their mother, and the sixth, larger, far more wrinkly in the face, and all brown, promptly sat. On the palace tiled floor, they could not quite get a purchase on their awkward legs and several of them had to scrabble and shimmy to keep upright. "Good morning, Your Majesties!" the puppies chorused.

"Good morning Children of Jina," Susan said. "How well you are looking this morning."

"Thank you, Queen Susan," they yelped back.

"We are very pleased to meet you," Lucy added. "We look forward to coming to know you all much better as you grow."

"Thank you, Queen Lucy," the puppies cried.

At that, one of the puppies, a little female, broke rank and sidled up to her mother, trying to nose her way under Jina's front legs. "Mummy," the puppy whined.

Jina growled. "No, Daughter, you may not."

"I see," said Lucy, looking sympathetically at the mother. "So that is the way of it, Jina?"

The Hound Bitch sighed. "Yes, your Majesty."

Lucy clapped her hands. "Children!" she exclaimed with great enthusiasm. "I am sure Cook would find something delicious for you in the kitchens. Why don't you go and ask her very politely?"

Edmund was watching the brown puppy. While he remained sitting, if listing a bit to the side, his nose was sniffing ferociously and he was very distracted, certainly not minding his Queens at all.

"Kitchen?" the brown puppy asked. "It has food, right mummy?"

"Yes, son."

"May we go?" one of the spotted ones said.

"You may."

"Come on!" the brown one shouted. "There's meat this way." With much scrapping of toenails and slipping and sliding on the tiles, the other five chased their solid brother out the door.

"A splendid litter, Jina," Edmund told her. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, King Edmund."

"The five tri-coloured all favor you and Rufus, don't they?" Susan asked.

"That was well-observed, your Majesty. You are correct. They are good spirited, energetic, very cooperative, and will do very well in the Palace Pack." She turned to address Edmund directly. "I saw your notice of the brown one, your Majesty. Ibiza is his sire, not Rufus. That one is all nose, just like his father. Very single-minded, not for the Pack, again like Ibiza, but, he has the makings of a tracker."

"We would be pleased to welcome a son of yours and Ibiza among the scent Hounds," Edmund told her. Ibiza's skills were, indeed, legendary. The bloodhound was taciturn and stubborn, but had the finest nose of the kingdom, in Peter's judgment.

"Thank you, Queen Lucy, for your excellent distraction." Jina shifted uncomfortably and settled her heavy belly on the floor with a sigh. "I shall be very glad when they are weaned. Those little teeth have become quite sharp."

"How much longer, Jina?" Lucy asked.

"Any day now, happily."

"Do you require any assistance?" Susan asked their lead Hound Bitch.

"Thank you, Queen Susan. One of the physicians said that fasting for a day should solve my own discomfort. For the actual weaning, I will need to be separated from them, so I will absent myself from the Palace for a week or so."

"Of course," Susan replied. "You have only to speak of it, and it shall be done."

Jina lifted her exquisite Hound nose, inhaling, and cocked an ear with a turn of her head. "The High King comes."

"Is anyone with him?" Susan asked a little anxiously.

"His Guard. He has been with the horses, Herc and Dora, I believe, at the pond." Jina sniffed again, and then shook her head, ears flopping to the side. "The woman, Princess Dim, has been with him as well."

_The pond! Excellent. Maybe she __**was**__ savaged in the Otter Romp. _

"Yes, thank you, Jina," Susan interrupted. "And the woman's name is Princess Begonia."

"Oh?" Jina looked at Edmund. Rather dryly, she added, "I must have been mistaken." The Hound Bitch knew perfectly well who was responsible for the name.

Lucy snickered again.

"Oh dear," Jina exclaimed suddenly, bounding to her feet. "There has just been a shriek in the kitchens. Good morning, your Majesties!" The Hound leaped forward and dashed out of the breakfast room.

A moment later, the soft click, click preceded the entry of Peter's own Cheetah Palace Guard and the High King behind them. The young Cheetah brothers, Fooh and Beehn, were a bit rambunctious, but got along well with the High King. Claws softly tapping on the floor, the Guard took up their positions along the wall and began chewing on each other's ears. Jalur growled at the juvenile behavior, and retreated further into a corner.

They all exchanged greetings as the High King of Narnia slumped into a seat. He was still in his riding clothes, grubby, and was rather red in the face, whether from irritation or exertion, Edmund could not tell.

"Tea?" Lucy asked. "It's still hot."

Through a yawn, Peter said, "Coffee if we still have it, hot or cold."

Susan poured, and slid the cup over. "How was the ride?"

"Oh, the usual," Peter replied uncommittedly, helping himself to a muffin with one hand and the rest of an entire serving plate of eggs with the other.

"She fell off?" Lucy asked.

"Twice," Peter said, a little wearily.

"Did the Otters get her?" Edmund asked.

Peter managed to frown between bites. The Most Royal Frown did not, however, alarm Edmund in the slightest. He did try to let Peter think that the MRF had some effect, though, when there was no risk to himself.

"Sorry," Edmund muttered, not in the least.

"I finally had to put her up with me on Herc for the ride back, or we'd still be out there. The High King paused in annihilation of breakfast to peruse his morning mail. They could all see from the barely imperceptible grimace when Peter got to the love letter. The faint odor of rose wafted through the room. That one went back to the bottom of the stack.

Edmund sneezed.

"What news here?"

"Jina was just here with her litter," Susan told him. "Five tri-coloured, with Rufus, all for the Palace Pack."

"There's a sixth; he is by Ibiza and the spitting image of his father," Edmund told his brother.

Peter visibly brightened. "And the nose? What does Jina think?"

"She sees a lot of Ibiza in him and the makings of a fine tracker."

"That is wonderful news," Peter said warmly, tackling a fruit plate next. "Ibiza doesn't get along as quickly as he did. I'll have to congratulate the three of them and visit with the boy."

"The work party should be here around noon," Susan continued. "The Dwarfs are expecting you to accompany them back South to inspect their road."

Susan had her own morning security briefing.

"Excellent!" Peter said. "Thank you for that information. There's no point to even getting cleaned up then!"

"How long will you be with them?" Lucy asked.

"A couple days. More if it rains." Peter looked positively ecstatic at the prospect of a week on the road with Dwarfs, mud and no Princesses.

Not to be outdone by Susan, Edmund said, "We have some Songbird Hens who are seeking our assistance with provisioning their fledglings."

"The Cocks withholding aid?" Peter asked. His pleased countenance turned most severe. This frown was one the High King reserved for serious matters of State.

Edmund nodded.

The High King tapped his plate aggressively with a knife, his full and formidable attention on the matter. "This will not be tolerated. We will not have young dying because their caregivers are squabbling." With something more like a bark, Peter went on, "Edmund, have someone give me the names. I'll want to deal with this myself before I leave."

"Certainly, Brother. I'll see to it." Edmund flashed a hand signal under the table, two fingers down in a cutting motion. A Rat would be about monitoring the meeting, would have heard Peter's order, and now seen his own. The High King would have the names of the Birds to be disciplined within the hour.

A growl sounded from the Guard. At some point during the meeting, Fooh and Beehn decided to try to stalk Jalur and were making feeble attempts to bat the Tiger's tail. The Tiger curled his lip in disgust and swished his tail to the other side of his body.

"You two!" Peter snapped his fingers and the chastened Brothers crept back to their allotted place.

"Amateurs," Edmund heard Lambert whisper to Briony.

"Hush."

"I have something actually," Lucy said, bringing them back to the matters of the day. She gestured to her own stack of letters. "I've received a number of messages from friends in the Lone Islands worrying about our tax policy. What's this about?"

"It's on my "Brother Do" list," Edmund said, wiping his runny nose. "Any official statement is premature, as I've not yet even figured out the existing policy. Revisions are long overdue, but in what direction, and how much, I'm not prepared to say."

"How long?" Peter asked. "I've received questions as well."

Edmund saw a way to turn this in his favor. "It is very complex, and I want to get it right the first time. Conservatively, I estimate a week or two to make out the current system and then several weeks thereafter to revise it."

"Susan," the High King asked, "have you been hearing complaints as well? Do you think, as I do, that Edmund's timeline is too long?"

Outwardly, Edmund kept his face impassive. Inwardly, he was chortling with glee. He just loved to see how Peter could get people to do what he wanted them to do, simply by leaving them no other alternative that would not make the victim feel like an utter boor and heel.

His sister's eyes narrowed. She saw the maneuvering as well, and was powerless to stop it. "Yes, I have heard of concern. I had three letters today from Lone Island interests." Much more slowly and reluctantly, for she would not lie to Peter, "And I believe that we should hurry this along as quickly as we are able."

Peter gave a curt nod. "Thank you for helping Edmund with it, then. We'll discuss your joint recommendations in ten days."

_Ten days. Argh._

Leaving no opportunity for either of them to protest, Peter moved on. "What is next?"

Edmund now addressed Lucy. "You will be receiving a petition from a Grove of Willows about the Telmar Beaver lodge."

Lucy twisted her face and tapped one of her letters. "That does not surprise me, but I thank you and your Rats and Crows for the confirmation. I'll probably need to ride out there, if you and Susan don't mind staying here."

"Of course not, Lucy. Edmund and I can review the Lone Islands tax code _and_ entertain the Princesses." Susan managed to keep the triumphant smile off her face.

Gah. Tree pollen, Princesses, and Taxes. The month could not get any better. _Stop_, he told himself. _Do Not Tempt Fate. _"Oh yes," Edmund added. "I would be glad to find some entertainment _with_ the Princesses." _Something involving Otters, stinging wasps, and large carnivores_.

Susan's look in his direction stated plainly that this was a discussion that would be continued later.

Another growl rose from the Palace Guard, this one more canine in aspect.

"Keep to your place, Cubs!" Briony bit out, speaking softly, but all the more menacing for it. Wrestling on the floor, Fooh and Beehn had crowded the Wolves into the corner near Jalur, a forced proximity big predators did not welcome.

"Another warning and you two are back to your mother for another month!" Peter said.

The Cheetahs scuttled back to their corner, hair standing on end, heads down. "Sorry, your Majesty," they mumbled dejectedly.

"My apologies, Good Wolves," Peter said. "I thank you for your assistance in modeling behavior for My Guard they would do well to emulate."

Briony and Lambert nodded, obviously pleased with the compliment from the High King.

Peter had ploughed his way through a tower of toast. "Anything else?"

"Speaking of Princesses, we had a bit of a situation at breakfast," Lucy began, wholly failing to keep the grin off her face.

The High King took a sip of his coffee. Eyes peering over the rim, he asked in a deceptively mild tone that often preceded the MRF, "Edmund, Susan, would you care to enlighten me about that?"

Rather than letting Susan tell the story, Edmund began quickly. "Princess Even More Dim was laced so tightly into her corset she was unable to keep her breasts to herself. I did not appreciate being molested and harassed at my own table, and so poured juice down her bodice."

"Oh." Peter said. "Who is Princess Eve N'Mordim?"

Susan snorted. "Princess Peony. The sister of Princess Begonia."

"I see," Peter said, even though he really couldn't possibly. "It has been resolved then?" The question that wasn't remotely a query was accompanied by a MRF to underscore his point that it had well better be resolved.

"Not, it has not," Susan responded acerbically. "Edmund has decided he is sick of corsets on Narnian women and so proposes to ban them."

"Really? Well, that is a novel solution to the problem, Brother." Peter gestured, one hand holding a large roll and the other his fork. "From my observation, such as it is, corsets just push everything up so that it all gets in the way. Not having to deal with that complication would have made the ride back this morning a fair bit easier, I must say."

Leg man through and through. Or, taking the Dryad approach, nothing at all. At times like these, Edmund so appreciated the constancy for which his brother was renowned.

"Peter, you are really no better than Edmund. Yes, corsets may, as you say, 'push everything up,' but they also give a woman shape and support. Wearing a corset makes a gown fit better."

Aha! Victory was at hand. Susan's tactical mistake was profound; she had completely lost Peter, as evidenced by their brother's next question. "But, if something doesn't fit, don't you just take it to the tailor?"

Strategically, this was the ideal time for Edmund to spring the argument that would carry the day. "Also objectionable is that a woman may tighten her corset so extremely that she cannot breathe well and faints."

"Only rarely," Susan huffed.

"So," the High King mused, seizing upon the profound relevance of this point. "Edmund, is it your theory that their elimination might reduce the amount of swooning and fainting in Narnia?"

"Yes," he responded quickly, seeing the path forward to bringing this to a satisfactory conclusion.

"For our convenience, this may sound policy," Peter concluded. "A ban though is a very harsh remedy. What of our People? What is their opinion? Lucy?"

"Well…" Klaxons sounded in Edmund's head. He had assumed Lucy was in his camp.

His younger sister continued. "Make no mistake; I thoroughly concur with Edmund's view of this. Corsets, at least as most commonly presented in our Court, are deplorable."

There's a _but_ coming. He could feel it.

"But, I am concerned with the Power and finality of this or any other ban." She gave him an apologetic smile. Oh, she just had to get all "Moral Use of Power" on him. Feh. J-U-S-T. Didn't they ever pay attention to _his_ title?

Lucy continued, ever so reasonably and Edmund saw victory slipping away through his ink stained fingers. "As Monarchs appointed by Aslan, we can effect this, or any other change, simply because we wish it, and deem it right. It does not follow, however, that we necessarily should exercise such power, unless we are certain of the concurrence of our Good Beasts and other Creatures."

Susan pounced. "That seems a very _just_ approach, wouldn't you agree, Edmund?"

"Well, I…"

The High King rose from his seat, downing the last of his coffee. "So, it's settled then. If one Native Narnian expresses a desire to continue to wear a corset, then Edmund, you must find an alternative means for achieving the policy – which I most earnestly commend to your attention, _after_ resolution of the Lone Island tax policies."

His siblings all filed off in their Most Royal State. Lucy did have the grace to give him an apologetic pat on the shoulder as she and Briony left the sunroom. Susan just looked smug – prematurely in Edmund's view. He'd like to be a Rat in the room when Susan suggested that Mrs. Furner, the Dwarfess, or Fidrian, Lucy's Centauress tutor, don a corset.

Adding injury to insult, a lovely warm breeze wafted into the room, carrying with it a veritable poison of elm, maple, oak, and birch pollen.

Edmund sneezed. (Sheep tax on Felimath was one-sixth percent per hoof. How could that possibly be sensible? Did three legged sheep graze the meadows of Felimath?)

"Jalur," Edmund grumbled, blowing his nose. "This is your fault. If you had not appealed to my need for tea and my sisters' need of me, I would have stayed in bed."

The Tiger stretched to his full length, front claws unsheathed and scrapping on the floor. "Yes," he agreed through an enormous yawn filled with the largest teeth of all felines. "I am a Rat."

* * *

Chapter 3, _I Smell A Rat _to follow.  
_In which there is an invasion from an unexpected quarter and further ruminations on taxes, corsets, tree pollen, and clotted cream._


	3. Ch 3 I Smell A Rat

**Chapter 3: I Smell A Rat**

_I__n which there is an invasion from an unexpected quarter and further ruminations on taxes, corsets, tree pollen, and clotted cream. _

_In honor of Tax Day in the US and for those, like the author, ill with tree pollen allergies. _Filed electronically 15 April 2009  
Not so much T as the last chapter, but it _is _The Just King.

* * *

_1. General Recitals And Statement of Purpose_

"_I, King Edmund the Just, Duke of the Lantern Waste, Count of the Western March, Knight of the Noble Order of the Table, fit by Most Holy Duty granted by Aslan, Son of The Emperor-Over-the-Sea, do hereby declare that the article of raiment referred to colloquially as "the corset" (see Definitions, section 2(a) supra), shall as of this day henceforth be banned in all lands of Narnia, from the… _

_2. Definitions_

_(a)"Corset" shall be defined as a close-fitting undergarment, stiffened with bone, metal, or similar material, often but not exclusively capable of being tightened by lacing, enclosing the trunk of the body; also, girdle; also a close-fitting undergarment reinforced by stays, worn to constrict the waistline, hips, and breasts, especially by females of the Human specei,_

"Were you not to be working on taxes?" Jalur rumbled from his favorite patch of sunlight on the floor of the tower Library.

"How do you know I am not?" Edmund asked, rubbing out the misspelling of "specie." He drafted on scraps with charcoal, and later would commit the final version to fine parchment and ink.

"You reek of smugness."

"So you are a Horse as well as a Rat?"

A low, deep, rolling growl, intense enough for Edmund to feel it in his bones, rose from the Tiger. "I would be less a nag if you were less a truant."

Edmund felt like grumbling himself. The corset ban was just so much more _fun_. Duly chastened, however, he pushed the drafting notes aside and pulled the dusty tome closer, _Tax Code of the Lone Islands, Title 26, Subtitle A, Income Taxes for the Individual, Familial Unit and Corporation, Subtitle B, Estate and Gift Taxes, and Subtitle C, Alcohol, Tobacco, Weapons, Destructive Devices And Other Miscellaneous Excise Taxes_. He opened the book, sneezed at the dust and mold billowing from the yellowed pages, and was determined to give it another try.

"Go back to sleep, Jalur. We will swim later. As you must endure me, in recompense I'll put up with the pollen, and we can go to the Pond. You can swim _and_ threaten the Otters."

So odd how much Tigers enjoyed water.

The Tiger, however, did not resume his nap. Edmund saw Jalur's head rise, then the rest of his long body followed, uncoiling like a spring. The Tiger fixed an unblinking yellow stare on the open door into the hallway. His big ears twitched, alert. "A woman comes."

So, not a sister; Jalur would name Lucy or Susan. Blast. "It's not a Princess, is it?"

"No, although I have perceived this one in their company."

_There were three, come to think of it. _

"The same scent is also in this room. She has been in the Library before."

_Someone with the Dim and Even More Dim who knows how to read? That is rather incongruous. _

Jalur stalked to the doorway. Edmund withdrew the long knife he kept in the drawer, set it in easy reach on the desk and pushed his chair back, giving himself more room. A quick glance confirmed that he had nothing on the desk that he would not wish others to see, except perhaps the soggy handkerchiefs and there wasn't anything he was going to do about that. She was welcome to Subtitles A, B, and C if she wanted them.

A moment later, a girl, no, Jalur was correct, woman, stopped abruptly at the threshold. Tallish, darkish, a plain green gown of the working type Lucy would have favored, and juggling several books awkwardly in her arms.

"Excuse me, Sir Tiger. I did not see you." She dropped into a small bob, dipping her head. On the way back up, an even more surprised, "OH!" This bobbing bow was deeper and more awkward. "King Edmund," she murmured.

Edmund said nothing, waiting for Jalur's assessment. Belatedly, he realized he should have stood when she entered; too late for politeness now. She had at least acknowledged the Tiger as something other than a terrifying Dumb Beast. The Tiger stared at her a moment longer, than backed up a pace, his tail moving in a leisurely wave. If he had been concerned, there would have been circling, pushing, growling, and tail lashing.

"Put the books down," Edmund told her, worried for their welfare. "You shouldn't be removing things from the Library." He, of course, could do so.

"I wasn't. These are mine." Pause. "Your Majesty." She set the volumes down at another desk near the door. With the closer look this afforded, it did seem they were more in the nature of bound ledgers than books or scrolls.

"Who are you?" Edmund demanded.

"Morgan, House of Linch, of Narrowhaven, Lone Islands, Sir."

"Do I have a treaty covering your stay here?"

He saw her mouth smirk with something that if it had not been so long since he'd seen it, he might have at one time categorized as irony. "Yes, Sir."

"If I looked at it in my file, what would it say is your purpose for being here?"

"To learn the business of…"

Edmund waved a hand, cutting her off, and finished the tired old statement, "governance from the Narnian Monarchs. So, have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Learned the business of governance from the Narnian monarchs?"

"No, not really." As an afterthought, "Your Majesty."

"Is that because your true purpose here is to Usurp Our Crown, Incite Insurrection, Commit Heinous Offenses, and/or Attempt Seduction of one or more of the Monarchs?"

Aslan Above and Across the Sea, was that an eye roll of disgust?

"I have only been here four days. And, with all due respect to your renowned intellect, if any of those were my intended goals here, I would certainly not own to them while standing within swiping distance of your Guard."

"Jalur! Did you hear that?"

"Regrettably, your Majesty."

"Sarcasm! I may die of shock."

"I pray that you do not," the woman said, most earnestly. "As I would then be charged with regicide, which would most certainly fall under at least of two of your aforementioned offenses against the Narnian Crown."

With that rather impertinent answer, Lady Morgan exploded with a very impressive sneeze.

"Excuse me," she said, pulling a large handkerchief from her pocket. "Would you mind if I shut it?" she wheezed, gesturing to the open window.

He had intended to say gallantly, "By all means," or "Allow me," but was convulsed with several sneezes in a row. One hand clutching his own handkerchief, he waved in that general direction.

"Go." Sneeze. "Ahead." Sneeze. Sneeze. Edmund reached for another handkerchief and blew his nose, very grateful the fit had passed without breaking a rib.

"Thank you." Sneeze. "As beautiful as this country is," sneeze, "the pollen is dreadful."

As she crossed over to the window, sneezing the whole way, Edmund got a better cross-section view of her figure. To all appearances, the dramatic effects of a corset were not in evidence. Of course, the prospect of a corset meeting the violence of a sneeze was so painful it could not to be considered at length without wincing. While the lack of a corset's more obvious impacts was not necessarily a reliable indicia of its absence, overall Edmund deemed the landscape that Morgan of the House of Linch presented rather better than the oversized proportions so rudely foisted upon him at breakfast.

This searching academic study, however, led Edmund to a most disturbing realization. If he did succeed in implementing the ban, how was he ever going to enforce it? Would he have to dance with or otherwise invent opportunities to grope every one of the visiting ladies to the Court in order to confirm the lack of a corset? To avoid the slapping and huffs of offended virtue, he would have to discern which ones wanted to be groped, and which ones did not, and which ones wanted to be groped, but only by Peter, or possibly, if very liberally minded, which ones were hoping to be groped by one of his sisters. It would be very confusing and really defeat the purpose of the whole enterprise. He did not want to grope them, or, well, at least not all of them. Certainly there should not be groping at breakfast, unless it was a continuation of the private activities of the previous evening and involved clotted cream. Under those circumstances, if there ever had been a corset, it would be long gone, possibly flung in the heat of the moment on to the canopy top or dangling precariously from the dresser mirror. Edmund pushed that thought aside. Not relevant.

Maybe Peter would help with the enforcement of the corset ban. Peter could be _significant_ help, what with all that swooning that occurred in his presence. The High King could always be counted upon to lend a hand.

Jalur stretched himself out on the floor, not in his favorite sunny spot, but between where Edmund sat and the desk where Morgan of the House of Linch had set her books. The Tiger had evidently concluded that she fell somewhere on the cautionary scale between "deadly threat" and "trusted friend."

Lady Morgan pulled the window shut then turned back around. "Pardon me, Sir Tiger," she said, stepping over Jalur's tail, and moved toward her desk, blowing her own nose.

"May I?" she asked, indicating the chair.

It was one of those things he still was not accustomed to even ten years into a Kingship – everyone asked permission before doing anything in a Royal's presence. He never meant to have individuals stand throughout an entire interview; he just forgot to tell them to sit down. _He_ would ask if he were in their position, and did not understand why others would not do the same.

"Certainly."

She hesitated. "I apologize, Sir, I did not mean to intrude on your work. Should I go elsewhere?"

"That rather depends on how annoying you intend to be. If you plan to talk, hum, or snore, I would object."

"I anticipate only sneezing and I am leaving at the luncheon hour to dine with the Queens."

"To sneezing, I obviously have no objection. Shared misery and all that. Take the seat, then."

With the negotiation completed, Edmund returned to Subtitle A, CHAPTER 1, Subchapter A, Part VI on computation of alternative minimum taxes in the Lone Islands.

_The maximum rate of tax on net capital gain of noncorporate taxpayers shall not exceed the sum of the amount determined under such first sentence computed at the rates and in the same manner as if this paragraph had not been enacted on the taxable excess reduced by the lesser of the net capital gain; or the sum of the adjusted net capital gain, plus the unrecaptured section 1250 gain, plus 5 percent (0 percent in the case of taxable years beginning after 950) of so much of the adjusted net capital gain (or, if less, taxable excess) as does not exceed an amount equal to the excess described in section 1 (h)(1)(B), plus 15 percent of the adjusted net capital gain (or, if less, taxable excess) in excess of the amount on which tax is determined under subparagraph (B), plus 25 percent of the amount of taxable excess in excess of the sum of the amounts on which tax is determined under the preceding subparagraphs of this paragraph. _

_The tentative minimum tax for noncorporate taxpayers is the sum of 26 percent of so much of the taxable excess as does not exceed 1,750, plus 28 percent of so much of the taxable excess as exceeds 1,750. The amount determined under the preceding sentence shall be reduced by the alternative minimum tax foreign tax credit for the taxable year. In the case of a corporation, the tentative minimum tax for the taxable year is 20 percent of so much of the alternative minimum taxable income for the taxable year as exceeds the exemption amount, reduced by the alternative minimum tax foreign tax credit for the taxable year. Alternative minimum taxable income means the taxable income of the taxpayer for the taxable year as determined by the adjustments provided in section 56 and section 58, and increased by the amount of the items of tax preference described in section 57. ***_

Edmund felt his eyes cross and his brain harden, like forged metal cooling in a bath. He tried again. He took notes. He sneezed. He invented sums and figured them based upon the formulae presented. He heard Lady Morgan sneeze. He read it again. He sneezed. He heard a fly buzzing in a window, drowsy, trapped… and he was nodding off. He heard Lady Morgan sneeze. Only his running nose and itchy eyes made staying awake possible. _Maybe I should go back to the corset ban_. But, Jalur had been right about that – it was no fun to be truant when it turned one's own Guard into a nag.

_Let's look at sections 56, 57 and 58. _Edmund turned the page forward. And back. Forward. Back. He wasn't in the 50's. He was in the 350's. Was there a different book? Was it in a separate sub-sub-sub-sub title other than the one he was in?

Finally, on the outside chance, "Lady Morgan, being as you hail from there, do you know anything of the archaic tax policies of the Lone Islands?"

Lady Morgan looked up from her own work, which truth be told, looked as dense as what he was doing. "Yes," she replied. "I know something of the Code."

"Could you spare a moment?" _Or a decade_.

She rose from her own desk, and stepped over Jalur's tail coming toward him. Through slitted, suspicious eyes, Jalur watched her every movement, a cat to her mouse. As she approached, the Tiger shifted on the floor, from a relaxed pose, to a readied crouch. Edmund slid the knife on his desk to the far side.

Lady Morgan however did nothing more alarming then look at the page to which the book was open. "Section 355. My sympathies."

"Impressive that you can read it upside down."

"The AMT is dense, even by the standards of the rest of the Code."

"AMT? Oh, yes, Alternative Minimum Tax. I have figured it out, more or less. In theory it is supposed to assure that high income generators pay at least a minimum to the Crown. However, I cannot locate the cross referenced sections 56, 57 and 58."

She studied the page and Edmund couldn't help but notice that her eyes did not seem to cross. "This is referring to the sections as enacted in the Tax Code, not as codified in the General Laws Of The Lone Islands."

"Should I have understood what you just said?"

"Probably not. The short answer is, subtract 300."

"So section 56 would appear as section 356 in the book?"

"Yes." Pause. "Sir. Anything else?"

Edmund did not yet have sufficient information to judge whether her familiarity with this material was common, or highly unusual. Given the complexity, he certainly assumed the latter. All in all, this made Lady Morgan a Person of Interest given the Interest of the Narnian Crown in the matters of taxation in the Lone Islands.

"Well, after wading through this for the past week, I have been wondering if we shouldn't just chuck the whole thing into the Sea and go with some sort of flat, fixed rate. Do you have any thoughts on that, Lady Morgan? If so, I would like to hear of them. However," he indicated the Tiger with a tilt of his head, "in deference to Jalur, I'd ask that you share from the distance of the other desk."

Jalur indeed had not moved from his tense crouch. Morgan glanced at the Tiger and then carefully withdrew. The Tiger relaxed again as she returned to her seat. She blew her nose.

Edmund sneezed.

"As to your question, a flat rate is easier to administer. However, a flat rate at say two percent of the income of a poor subsistence farming family or fisherfolk is going to be felt rather more severely than two percent of the income of someone of the merchant class."

A good point, though he could see several solutions. He wondered if she was trying to defend a current system that favored the class to which she undoubtedly belonged.

"In that vein then, on the matter of relative burdens, why is the sales tax on luxury items lower than the sales tax on ordinary items? I understand the base is higher of course, with wine or gems, rather than say, fishing hooks or wheat, so you are paying, possibly, a larger total amount of tax on the luxury. But, does that strike you as fair? Especially since it seems to apply even to the most basic of necessities, like food?"

Her mouth quirked up in what seemed to be something very like ironic observation. "No, the differing rates are not remotely fair."

At the risk of sounding naïve, Edmund asked, "So, then why is a patently unfair system allowed to perpetuate itself in this way?"

"Politics."

Well that answered for all, yet nothing at all. The excuse of Politics covered a multitude of sins.

"And Politics is why one pays more tax on beer and cider than on wine and spirits, and a higher tax on Narnian made goods, than those made in Calormen?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Yes," Lady Morgan said dryly, "I suspect you do."

So, that was the way of it. Little wonder there was such concern in the Lone Islands. Shaking up what the merchant class paid for, and how much, would be cause for consternation. The thought that the poor of this part of their Kingdom were bearing too large a burden to support the comforts of both the Islands and the Narnia monarchy left Edmund feeling very sour and angry.

There was no small amount of wit in Lady Morgan and he suspected an unstated agenda as well. He would look at the treaty that covered her stay once she left the Library.

"Thank you for those insights."

"You are welcome, Sir."

She bent again to her own ledgers; Edmund returned to section 356 which was really section 56.

"Sir is not the King's proper title."

"Pardon, Sir?"

"Sir is not the King's proper title," Jalur repeated. "Yet you have used it several times."

Oh stars and skies. "Jalur! Go back to sleep."

"I was not asleep, your Highness, and while you do not object to the misuse of your title, others of this Court do, myself included. If you do not correct her, I shall."

Lady Morgan looked quite perturbed, although it was unclear as to whether it was due to her error, or that she was being spoken of in the third person by a huge, talking Tiger. "I apologize. I did not mean to give offense." She sounded rather more offended than apologetic. "'Sir' is the highest honorific of my House; terms of Royalty are in disuse."

_Even if We are Your Sovereigns? In disuse except perhaps as epithets and curses?_

"You may refer to me as Sir," the Tiger told her, "as I am a Knight of the Table. The King is as well, but Sir is not sufficient for him."

"What title is the appropriate one?" Morgan asked, rather loftily.

Oh bother.

"I have so many, it's a perfectly reasonable error."

Jalur growled his disagreement.

"You aren't really going to make me do this, are you?"

Jalur growled again, this one so menacingly low it made the hairs stand up on his arms. "Duke," the irritable Tiger began.

Sighing, Edmund had to concede this as a battle lost and so completed the Tiger's beginning, "'Duke of the Lantern Waste' is one of the titles, but no one bothers with it except in official documents."

"Count," the Tiger snapped.

"'Of the Western March,' same as with Duke."

"The Just King or King Edmund the Just."

"I have a rather extensive spiel that goes with that one, but suffice to say, I have authority over legal matters."

"Shall _I_ continue, _m__y King_?" Jalur snarled, as Edmund paused for a breath.

"'My King' is most commonly used among those who are personally and relationally close, such as in the uppity Guard, the Palace staff, and the Army. The exception to that is 'Lazy Arse,' which is a special term of endearment from my Sword Master."

"Even the Sword Master prefaces it with 'Royal,' as in 'Royal Lazy Arse,'" Jalur clarified.

Lady Morgan snickered. Feeling that he really did not wish to instigate two diplomatic incidents in one day (Susan would be very cross indeed, likely leaving him alone to the mercy of the Lone Island Tax Code), and wanting to salvage some modicum of pride after being embarrassed by the manners of his own Guard, Edmund thought it best to continue in that vein.

"Edmund and Ed _are_ reserved for my Royal siblings, usually accompanied by long suffering sighs, cries of outrage, and _very_ occasionally associated with the word 'brilliant,' as in 'Ed, you are brilliant!' Obviously, I am also the 'King Most Abused By His Irascible Guard.' Ass and Brute tend to be popular with my former lovers; any current one, well, that's no one's business but our own, and I don't much care, so long as it isn't 'brother,' 'father,' or 'Peter.' For your purposes, here, 'Your Highness' will do; or 'Your Majesty;' King Edmund as well."

He turned to the Tiger. "Satisfied?"

"You left out 'Sire.'"

"You are impossible to please. You know I don't like that one at all."

In the end, Lady Morgan did not seem too perturbed by it all, but she was of a rather stern temperament. Definitely A Person Of Interest.

"Thank you for that instruction." Pause. "King Edmund."

He was surprised she did not use "Sire" given his distaste for the word. So, no smiles and all's well's, but no scowl either. Crisis averted.

"Sir Jalur, do I have your permission to return work, so that you may swim this afternoon?"

The Tiger exhaled a heavy grunt of satisfaction and lowered his head to rest on his enormous paws. "You may, my King."

Happily, Edmund was able to return to the millstone that was the Lone Islands Tax Code. As the morning lengthened into early afternoon, his head cleared some; a temporary reprieve only and the misery would start all over again in the morning. Lady Morgan's sneezing also lessened; so much so that he would forget she was there unless he heard some rustling of paper or scratching of charcoal and ink on ledgers.

He was silently and profoundly cursing Subtitle B when Jalur interrupted his internally voiced rant. "Mr. Hoberry comes. With tea."

"Hopefully no milk."

From her desk, Lady Morgan emitted a rather unladylike snort of laughter.

Edmund looked up. "Oh, you heard about that, did you?"

"At least three times; it grew in the telling at each report."

Mr. Hoberry trotted in. "Good afternoon King Edmund, Jalur, Lady Morgan." He set the tray down on the desk.

Glancing at the tray's content, Edmund commented, "Thank you Mr. Hoberry most especially for not including milk on my tray."

The Faun looked offended, until he added a wink. "Certainly not, King Edmund. I know your Majesty's preferences quite well. And," here he whispered in secret conspiracy, "I did manage to keep others – who I shall not name, but who include, and _are not limited to_ those with 'Queen" in their titles – from adding milk to your tray."

"Thank you for that intelligence. Tell me is there anyone in the Castle who has not learned of what occurred at breakfast?"

"Most assuredly, King Edmund. None of our nocturnal personnel have heard of it yet."

Morgan snorted again, and Mr. Hoberry turned smartly on his hooves. "Lady Morgan? I was asked to escort you to my Queens for luncheon if convenient for you."

_Go! Go! Go! _Edmund silently urged her.

"Thank you Mr. Hoberry. It is convenient."

This time, Edmund remembered his manners and stood. "Give my regards to my Sisters, and make sure the Queen Susan knows that I am hard at work." He gestured to her ledgers. "You are welcome to leave those here."

Morgan narrowed her eyes fractionally. "Thank you, King Edmund. But, I think not."

_Drat. She knew I would try to read them._

She and Mr. Hoberry gathered her things. With a curtsey and bow, they left.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

"Are they gone, Jalur?"

Another pause. "Yes, your Majesty."

_Excellent._

Edmund settled himself back into his chair and poured himself a cup. "Jalur, do you smell a Rat in here?"

"I do."

"My Good Rat," Edmund called into the Library. "Please show yourself."

They waited and a moment later, a smallish gray Rat crept out from behind the bookcase near the window.

Edmund patted the desk. "Come Friend. I don't believe we have met."

The young Rat Buck scampered up the desk leg, quivering with excitement. He stood up on his haunches and managed a passable salute, "Teddy reporting, Sir, I mean your Majesty!"

"To whom in the Mischief do you report, Teddy?"

"The Lady Willa, your Majesty!"

"Well, Teddy, I shall personally commend you to Lady Willa for your stealth. I had no reason to assume a Rat would be here, and neither saw nor heard you."

"He came in a few minutes after Lady Morgan," Jalur supplied.

Teddy wilted a bit. "I'm sorry, your Majesty."

Jalur grunted, his equivalent of a dry laugh.

"Teddy," Edmund said gently. "Jalur is a soldier, a Guard, and a Tiger. Of course he heard and smelled you." He gestured to his tray. "I'm sure you are hungry sitting here so long and I don't want to keep you from your duty. Help yourself."

"Thank you, your Majesty. I am a bit peckish and need to get to downstairs for the luncheon." He hesitated, looking absolutely stricken, torn between warring obligations. "You will please tell the Lady Willa that I'm not shirking my duty? I _am_ only here because you asked me to remain."

"Absolutely. Now, eat, quickly. I need to know why you are following Lady Morgan."

Teddy grabbed raisins from the tray and stuffed them into his mouth. Through his gnawing, he managed, "Could you please pour a little tea on to the saucer, King Edmund?"

Edmund did so, willing patience with his small, earnest Friend.

Teddy took a quick slurp. "Thank you, your Majesty. In a nut, the Queen Susan asked me to follow her two days ago."

"Did she now!"

Behind the façade of the Gentle Queen, Edmund well knew was a cunning and subtlety few really understood. There were very good reasons for her skills in diplomacy and they were not founded solely upon her beauty and grace. Credit to her for being two days ahead of him on this.

"She wanted to know where the Lady Morgan was going and what she was doing." Teddy sighed. "It's been a bit dull, actually. I thought it would be more exciting, but she's been in here most of the time."

"Teddy, that may be dull to you, but it is of great interest to me and the Queen Susan. What has Lady Morgan been looking at?"

With his tiny paws, Teddy gestured toward the bookcase he had been hiding behind. "That one. She's started at the top and has been working through it, one by one. Very methodical."

So, Narnian laws, treaties, tax rolls, principles of governance, proclamations, decrees, and organization of the Realm. Basically, everything Edmund and Susan had undertaken in the last ten years. It was suggestive. Not determinative. But, suggestive.

"Anything else? Any messages? Letters? Visitors? Any birds?"

"No, your Majesty. But, there was something odd, which I reported to Lady Willa. She was going to report it to you and Queen Susan if it happened again today."

Edmund forced himself to not rush the Rat. For so young a Buck, Teddy was doing extremely well. "Yes?"

"She went to down to the Otter Romp, the last two days. Each day, in the afternoon, after tea."

"And?"

Teddy hung his head in shame. "I couldn't follow, your Majesty. The Otters…"

_Blast. _"They chased you away, didn't they? They would not let you approach the Pond."

The Rat Buck nodded.

Edmund put a finger under the dejected Rat's chin, raising the bright beady eyes up to his own. "Friend, you have done very well, indeed. Now, are you refreshed? How about a bit of that muffin on the plate?"

"Thank you, King Edmund!" Teddy took an enormous chunk of blueberry muffin in his mouth and chewed earnestly, spilling crumbs all about the desk. "New Orders?" he mumbled through a mouthful.

"Continue as you have, and don't endanger or expose yourself. Don't worry about the Otter Romp. That's a subtle bit of business, and you did exactly as you should. It's Crow's work, and I'll see that you have some more coverage, straight off. If you see either before I do, inform Lady Willa and Queen Susan that you have spoken to me and that I've put the Murder on it as well."

Teddy quickly washed his face and crumbly whiskers with his paws and took another quick sip of tea. "I'll do that, King Edmund. I'd best be off! I'll take the laundry chute down to the Great Hall and get into the Conservatory through the open window. That's where they are dining."

The Rat saluted; Edmund returned the two fingered salute. "You do great service to Narnia, Rat Buck. She thanks you, as do I. Aslan speed you on your way."

"And to you, Sir!"

Teddy scampered down the desk, leapt over Jalur's tail and bolted out of the Library.

Edmund withdrew from his desk drawer the red signal flag and rising, took it to the window, opened the window and set the flag in an empty flower pot on the outside ledge, set there for this purpose. He only sneezed once. "That should bring someone shortly."

Jalur stretched to his full length, rump up, front legs extended, and resettled himself in a patch of sun. "I am sure your Majesty noticed that Teddy called you 'Sir' twice. He heard Lady Morgan doing it, and unwittingly did as she."

Edmund bristled at that. "Jalur, really, you make too much of such things."

Jalur lashed his tail, although his voice remained more controlled. "She presumed the liberties of a more intimate acquaintance, and you permitted it, your Majesty. If she had no other purpose than to intrigue you, she has already accomplished that end."

_Stupid titles. Stupid Guards. Stupid, perceptive Guards._

"What did you make of her? What did you sense?"

"She did not smell of fear or conflict. I sensed unease and irritation, at times, but nothing untoward. Mostly, she smelled of soap."

"Soap," Edmund repeated. As he was always reminded with Talking Beasts, they did not perceive the world as a human did.

"Lavender soap, more precisely."

"Lavender?" a voice croaked from the window sill. "What about lavender soap is Crow's business?"

The glossy black Crow Hen, hopped into the room through the window. "Good afternoon your Majesty, Jalur. I am Harah. How may the Murder serve?"

Edmund just loved that term, Murder of Crows. It bothered Willa no end that _her_ Agency was merely a "Mischief of Rats" – the Rat Doe had lobbied hard for a collective designation, but to no avail. The High King was not going to permit "His Majesty The King Edmund's Royal Murder" as the name for the Narnian Intelligence Services.

"Thank you for coming, Harah." Edmund held out his arm and the Crow Hen hopped aboard. He took her back to his desk and she jumped off again.

"That's pretty," she commented, eyeing the silver plate tea set on the tray. "Very shiny. I like that knife especially."

If Rats could become distracted by food, the weakness of Crows, apart from their insatiable curiosity for trouble, was a marked fondness for things, most especially shiny things.

Edmund tapped the table to regain Harah's attention. "Good Lady, I have an important commission for you and the Murder."

Harah primly smoothed her feathers and focused back on him. "Yes, King Edmund?"

"There is a human woman, Lady Morgan of the Lone Islands, staying here at the Palace. These last two afternoons she has evaded her Rat Guard and been down to the Otter Romp."

"Brutes the Otters are, King Edmund. Most savage," Harah cried, with a snap of her beak.

"Indeed. The Otters have harassed the Rat and he has not been able to follow her to the Pond. I wish you to trail the Lady Morgan when she is out of doors and report to me of what transpires."

"Certainly. What does the Lady Morgan look like? I do not know her."

Oh bother that. This part was always hard, to describe a human in terms relevant to a Bird. "She is of a look similar to the Queen Susan, with dark hair, but darker skin, but of a shape more like the Queen Lucy. She has been in the company of the two Princesses."

"Dim and Even More Dim?" the Crow Hen asked. "I know them. Very silly, but they have some very pretty ornaments. Sparkly, even!"

Edmund held up a hand. "Lady, it is best if I not hear of that."

The Crow laughed, a strangled, awkward sound. "Best not, indeed, King Edmund." She fluffed her feathers and settled down again to business. "Lady Morgan, what colour hair and eyes has she?"

"I did not remark on her eyes. She has brown hair."

Squawking in irritation, Harah persisted. "What sort of brown? Brown brown, brown yellow, brown gold, brown red, brown black, black brown? Shiny brown, dull brown, highlights of shiny and dull? How does light reflect off her hair?"

"Friend, I do not see as you," Edmund reminded the Crow Hen. "It is brown."

"She smells of soap," Jalur offered.

"And what use is soap smell to a Bird? You mammals," Harah huffed, "don't know how to use your eyes."

Jalur rumbled at this criticism. "And you Birds do not know how to smell."

Harah paid him no mind. "What colours does she wear today?"

"Green." Edmund was glad to hear that Harah understood the colours for _today_. The problem for Birds was that humans changed the colour of their "feathers" daily and this was something a Crow had to understand in order to serve in the Murder.

"What green? Apple? Lime? Pine? Algae? Yellow green? Green yellow? Blue green? Green blue? Grass green?"

"Green," Edmund repeated helplessly.

"Tut!" Harah scolded, cocking her head to the side. "Inadequate description, your Majesty. You need to work on that. It's not to be helped though, handicapped as you are."

Edmund hid his smile. The Lady Harah was trying to do her job, he was not aiding her, and Crows were not the most polite of Birds. "Friend Crow, I believe you will find the Lady Morgan in the Conservatory at this moment, lunching with the Queens. You may observe her there and pass a description more useful to Birds on to the Murder. If the opportunity presents, you may discreetly alert the Queen Susan to your presence. It is she who set the Rats on the Lady, but my Sister does not yet know I have commissioned the Crows as well."

The Crow Hen bobbed her head. "Excellent, your Majesty. I shall find her there."

"Now, would you like something shiny before you go?" Edmund asked.

Hopping excitedly from leg to leg, Harah squawked, "The knife? It's ever so pretty."

"No, Friend, for Mr. Hoberry or Cook will come looking for it." Possibly with a knife of their own. "I have some things rather better." Edmund opened the box on his desk so that the Crow Hen could inspect the bits of flotsam he kept for them. Edmund had the Smithy provide him with their tiny castoffs - wire, shavings, metal, copper, and tin. Further, he made a point of collecting the odd crystal, pyrite, glass, and other glittery objects the Crows adored. He understood from Sallowpad the old Raven Chief that there was a booming trade among the Crows of the Murder for the "Shinys" of King Edmund.

Harah pecked at the box, sorting through the pieces until she found a copper filigree from the Smithy. "That one, if you please, your Majesty."

Edmund removed the wire and offered his arm again. Harah hopped on and he took her to the window. "Beak or claw?"

"Beak if you please, King Edmund. My thanks."

"May Aslan shine on your Wings, Friend Crow." She took the wire into her beak and bobbed her head twice. Edmund returned the two fingered salute and off she flew, around the ramparts, toward the Conservatory at the rear of the castle.

"Impudent," Jalur grumbled.

"They are indeed," Edmund agreed. "I truly do not want to know what the Crows have taken from the Princesses. I do hope it is nothing valuable. I should speak to Sallowpad about it, I suppose."

One last thing, and then back to taxes. Edmund went to his Dwarfen strong box, squatting large and quite impenetrable in the corner. He checked, but the tiny splints he inserted into the hinges were still where he had last left them. The splints were his own contributions to the tradecraft – so small as to go undetected, but the splints would fall out if someone attempted entry of his strong box. He opened the box with the two keys.

He found the contract for Lady Morgan fairly easily; it had been filed under "Linch." In looking at it, he now remembered the treaty of some four months ago quite clearly. The person at the other end had carefully reviewed the deliberately dense, difficult document, and made a few intelligent modifications. Edmund had even written back when he sent a copy of the executed document thanking the person who he had assumed was his counterpart in Narrowhaven handling the request for the visit of the Lady Morgan. He looked at the signature and was now not surprised at all to see a barely legible scrawl that, squinting, could just barely be read as "Morgan, House of Linch." So, the Lady Morgan had negotiated and executed her own treaty.

Turning the pages, he could not help a smirk at the questions about thigh circumference. It really was quite rude and he half expected a "None Of Your Damn Business." The actual response was rather better. The number was provided in formula for measuring the circumference of a circle. Doing the sum in his head, Edmund realized that the Lady Morgan of the House of Linch had a shapely leg under that gown of indeterminate green. Maybe he should tell Peter.

Or, perhaps not.

The last pages provided contact information – who to inform in the event the visitor was kidnapped by Otters or fainted while in the presence of the High King and banged her head on the way down. The disclosures brought Edmund to a full, hard, and alarmed stop.

"Something amiss, my King?" Jalur had sensed the sudden spike in tension.

"Perhaps," Edmund told his watchful Guard. _House of Linch_. Of _the Houses of __Stanleh, Sterns, Linch, and Meryll, _the largest, wealthiest, most prominent, and likely most corrupt, merchant counting houses in the Lone Islands, possibly in all the known Lands.

"It would seem that the Lady Morgan is no lady at all."

"Oh?"

"Willa shall be thrilled; Narnia has been invaded by the most ruthless, bloodthirsty of enemies. I do believe Morgan of the House of Linch is a banker."

* * *

***Borrowed liberally from the Internal Revenue Code of the United States, 26 U.S.C. § 55.

Oh My Goodness. Plot. No one is more shocked than I. I assure you, it is only temporary.

_Chapter 4, The Romp, to follow.  
In which there is a pollinating dryad, otters, and yet even more persistent reflections on clotted cream. _


	4. Chapter 4 The Romp

**By Royal Decree**

**Chapter 4: The Romp**  
_In which there is a pollinating dryad, otters, and even more persistent reflections on clotted cream. _

_**Definitely T**_ - for, among other things, _**very naughty language**_ and more (see above). You have been warned. And warned again. And yet, again.

Better repeat this, given what is to follow although the content really removes any doubt: while I own pets, a car, and property, and many lay claim to me, I do not own nor lay claim to any this.

* * *

Even Jalur could not criticise. Edmund had been the good, obedient Just King and spent _hours and hours_ slogging his way through Subtitles A, B, and C of the Lone Islands Tax Code. He had hoped that the provisions regarding excise taxes on weapons and other destructive devices might provide some modicum of relief from the tedium. It had not, other than to better inform his developing understanding that they had a serious problem in the Lone Islands and that merely tweaking the Tax Code was not going to solve it.

Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch did not return. Edmund had to concede quite privately and without the knowing commentary of too-perceptive Tigers, that her absence was for the best. He was irritated that she had not explained herself more thoroughly, and even more irritated at himself for not treating the whole matter with greater care. He had simply never thought that small, self-sufficient Narnia would ever attract the attention of the great banking syndicates. Narnia was not wealthy by the standards of the great Empires, but there was no need for it. They had enough, they were free, the land rich, plentiful, and unspoiled, and Aslan blessed them. Yet, these things also made Narnia a tasty morsel others would happily gobble up given the opportunity.

Not all wars are fought with swords; not all were lost on battlefields.

Struggling alone through the Code, he really would have preferred to have found a confidant in the intelligent, if cool, Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch. Everything he knew was self-taught; he had very good teachers, but it wasn't as if Pliny and Fidrian, their Centaur tutors, had ever dealt with merchant counting houses or foreign taxation. Susan was very good, but she had no more education in it than he. It would have been near relief to discuss these matters with someone who had been trained to it.

Nor was it helping that he had to push aside as Most Decidedly Not Relevant the occasionally intruding considerations of private dining occasions featuring clotted cream and what might be under a gown of indeterminate green if not a corset.

Gah. Back to taxes on foreign corporations and non-resident aliens. What in blazes was a nonresident alien anyway? How could a Narnian be a foreign corporation when the Lone Islands belonged to Her?

_In the case of foreign corporations subject to taxation under this subtitle, there shall be deducted and withheld at the source in the same manner and on the same items of income as is provided in section 1441 a tax equal to 45 percent thereof. For purposes of the preceding sentence, the references in section 1441 (b) to sections 871 (a)(1)(C) and (D)_

Edmund turned to section 871, remembering to subtract 300, and put a bookmark in that page.

_shall be treated as referring to sections 881 (a)(3) and (4), _

Edmund turned to section 881, remembering to subtract 300, and put a bookmark in that page.

_the reference in section 1441 (c)(1) to section 871 (b)(2) shall be treated as referring to section 842 or section 882 (a)(2), as the case may be, _

Edmund turned to section 842 and 882, remembering to subtract 300 each time, and put a bookmark in those pages.

_and the references in section 1441 (c)(12) to sections 871 (a) and 871 (k) shall be treated as referring to sections 881 (a) and 881 (e) (except that for purposes of applying subparagraph (A) of section 1441 (c)(12), as so modified, clause (ii) of section 881 (e)(1)(B) shall not apply to any dividend unless the regulated investment company knows that such dividend is a dividend referred to in such clause…._

"You have not turned a page this quarter hour your Majesty."

"Jalur, I am really not in a mood to hear your censure! This is bloody hard so just shut it, would you!"

Edmund sunk his pounding head on his arms, resting the whole on top of TITLE 26; Subtitle A; CHAPTER 3; Subchapter A; Section 1442, Taxation of Foreign Corporations, knowing that it was important, that something of significant consequence to Narnia was secreted here, that he simply did not have the wit to see it, and that there was no one who could help him and Narnia to unravel it.

He immediately regretted the indulgent self-pity as he inhaled a noseful of mold and dust from the volume. Jerking back, he sneezed right into Jalur's face. Somehow, the Tiger had snuck up on him.

"Oh! Jalur, I am sorry!" He just felt miserable. "I should have never spoken to you so."

"Your Majesty, forgive me, I did not mean criticism." The Tiger spoke so gently, it could break him. "You have laboured as hard as any today." Jalur pushed the hateful Code away with his nose, and then spoke directly to him, veritably eye to eye. "You gave your only food to the Rat, you have had naught but tea, and it is time to stop."

Edmund felt himself wilt. A Tiger's breath was not the same as the Lion's, but it was good, and warm on his face, and he was loved.

"May I, Friend?"

"You may, my King Edmund."

Edmund wrapped his arms around the Tiger's neck, buried his face into the rich fur, and remembered that this was why he would persevere through even the ignoble Lone Islands Tax Code.

"I promised you a swim, didn't I?"

"And Otters, King Edmund. I was promised Otters."

That shamefully self-indulgent episode over, Edmund snagged a towel from his room and a snack from the kitchens (Cook yelled at him for missing lunch and tea and said something about a Dwarf invasion, but she was probably still upset about the puppy invasion of that morning).

On the way out, he overheard trilling (Dim and Even More Dim) and noises of what sounded to be a more substantive conversation between Lucy and Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch. He didn't want to see her now. She probably didn't even like clotted cream. Edmund actually wasn't sure that he liked clotted cream. It was the potential application that was intriguing. He pushed the intruding thoughts aside. Not relevant.

Together, he and Jalur headed down the south path to the Pond. It was late, but still warm, bright, very green, and tomorrow it would all be covered again in yellow dust. For the moment though it felt wonderful to be outside, bare feet, grass between the toes, no breeze to carry yet more pollen, and best of all, the detestable books somewhere else for the rest of the day. Edmund waved to the Moles rooting around in the gardens and paid no attention at all to the squabbling Songbirds. The Mischief would have already made the report of the problem couples to Peter and it was liberating to know that he did not, in fact, have to see personally to every single detail in the Realm.

As they were climbing the hill, Jalur sniffed, "the High King is here, and His Guard."

"I thought they would have left already, although Cook was complaining about invading Dwarfs."

They climbed a bit further and heard taunts and catcalls rising up from the bowl on the other side of the hill.

"I don't effing Adam and Eve it! Look what the dog dragged in!"

Jalur growled.

"It's the fuckwitted fleabag housecats."

"Would pussy like some milk?"

This growl was more intense than the last, like thunder rumbling in the distance, waiting to explode into a violent storm.

"You got a face like a bulldog chewing on a wasp, you effing toad."

"Oi, shut your claptrap you buggering sod. I was talkin to him, the pussy pussy."

"Yeah, well you got face like busted Dwarf ass."

"Ahh," Edmund sighed, knowing all was indeed so very right with the Aslan's Good Creation. "The sweet music of the Otter Romp."

They crested the rise and sure enough, Fooh and Beehn were chasing the Otters around in the dell below, although unquestionably and as their wont, the little weasels had the better of the Cheetahs.

Jalur was shaking with rage and eagerness.

"Just hold a moment, Friend; help me find my Bro.."

_Oh. _Jalur's ear twitched backward hearing his King utter an unaccustomed, most Otter-like, oath as Edmund spied Peter on the other side of the dell.

_Good thing I didn't arrive any earlier. _Oi. It had happened before, it would happen again, but repetition did not make the intrusion any less comfortable.

"Jalur!" he hissed, "you should have told me!"

"I did!" the Tiger snapped, near prancing with impatience to savage the Otters who had grabbed on to Beehn's tail.

"You told me Peter was here. You neglected to mention the Dryad!"

The Tiger glared at him with absolute and utter feline disdain. "Only humans could take something so very simple, and make it so ridiculously complex."

With that, Jalur bounded off with an ear shattering roar, scattering the Otters in all directions, like leaves in the wind.

"Buggering hell!" an Otter shrieked.

"Oi! It's that dickwad Tiger!"

"What absolute gobshite, you fucktard! RUN!"

"Run where, you arseface?"

"Ah, you couldn' manage a piss-up in a brewery, you arse-hat."

"Arseface am I? Yeah, well you're a arse-hole."

Edmund saw Jalur bowl the four Otters as if they were balls and send them rolling back into the woods, fortunately _away _from Peter and the Dryad. An advantage the Cats would have was that Jalur, Fooh, and Beehn could act cooperatively against a common foe. The Otters were as likely to quarrel amongst themselves as any other.

But, with the ruckus, there was also no way he was going to be able to slink off quietly away, somewhere, _anywhere_ else.

"Hullo Ed!" his brother called, in a cheerful, lazy voice.

Nothing for it then.

Edmund slowly walked down the slope into the dell, toward the grove where the afternoon's _other _lawn sports not involving Otter bowling were winding down. At as respectful a distance as he could manage, "hello, Peter." Edmund executed a short, polite bow, "Lady Dryad. Sorry to intrude. I didn't know you were here, and Jalur neglected to mention it."

The High King was in quite the _un-state_, undone, untied, unfastened, unloosened, unwound, unconcerned, and sitting on the ground, reclining, back against the Silver Birch Dryad, she, more or less, in her tree form at this stage of the proceedings. They were shrouded in a fog of yellow pollen so thick, it made Edmund's eyes water just looking at it. Which, he really wished he wasn't. Looking at it at all, that is. The Dryad had twined her long, slim branches possessively across Peter's chest and waist; another branch toyed with his hair. Her roots were tangled sinuously around his legs.

This was especially not conducive to his continuing efforts to push clotted cream aside as not relevant. Edmund had not previously considered its potential applications insofar as toes were concerned.

"Not a worry, Ed. I'll join you shortly."

In Edmund's view, that was overly optimistic. This not being the first time, and knowing Peter as he did, his brother wouldn't quite be ready for the exertion of even getting vertical in the very near term. It further assumed the Silver Birch would let him go before she was ready to do so.

The supposition was proven out when a rain of catkins fell from the slighted Dryad's branches. Edmund had to throw up his arms to shield his head. "Lady! I go! I did not come to take your King away!"

"Oh my Lady," he regrettably overheard Peter say very softly. "None of that now." Edmund turned away quickly but not before he saw Peter's hands caress one of the branches wrapped about him. The Tree quivered in response to the gentle touch, spewing more pollen.

"I'm just off to the Pond now!" Edmund managed to choke out, edging away, and very carefully avoiding the tree roots writhing about on the ground. He would not put it past the Lady to trip him into the water by throwing up a branch.

"Don't worry about a thing!" he called, _not_ looking back. "If there are any marauding giants in the next hour, I'll handle it!"

Edmund bolted as fast as he could away from the scene, toward the rumble in the dell.

Jalur, Fooh and Beehn had corralled the Otters against a rock.

"What a load a cack!"

"Bog off you effing pussys!"

"Bog off yourself, you fucktard."

"Bugger me blind, you rats, let us go!"

"You sod."

"Yeah, well you can just sod off."

"Jalur, Fooh, Beehn, to Me!" Edmund ordered. "Leave them."

As the Cats turned away from the cornered Otters, one shouted, "Oi! Look at the baby King! All mouth and no trousers!"

The insult was too much for Jalur. He spun back around and roared so fiercely, the trees shook, unleashing yet more pollen to drift serenely down on top of them all like flecks of yellow snow.

Three of the Otters did scamper off.

The fourth however, was not so easily cowed. "I'll give you what for if you don't shut your pie hole, you fuckwit."

With a swipe of Jalur's velveted paw, the Otter went tumbling across the dell and nearly into the Pond.

"I really should reprimand you for that, Jalur," Edmund scolded.

"But you will not."

Snapping his fingers, Edmund directed the bulk of his irritation over the really ludicrous situation where it belonged. "You two, Fooh and Beehn, I have words for you." He growled at them much as his own Guard did. "Given the business of the High King, you should have never allowed us down here."

Both Cubs, on hearing the sharp reprimand, crouched down, ears flat against their heads, eyes upraised. "We're sorry, King Edmund," Fooh said in a small voice.

"We didn't know," Beehn added. "Should we go apologize to the High King now?"

"No!"

The Cheetahs scrunched down even further, making themselves very small indeed.

Oh Aslan. He'd forgotten how young the cubs were. They probably were not mature enough to have even been through their first courtship season. Edmund scrubbed his hand across his face and immediately regretted it, for it felt he was rubbing sand into his eyes. The pollen was everywhere. He sneezed, and still remembered that the corporate tax rate was forty-five percent. _Wait, wasn't that rather high for a Narnian?_

"What should we do, King Edmund?" Beehn asked.

He seized on a fantastic idea. "Jalur! Just the Cat for the job!"

Having divined his intent, the Tiger looked at him with the equivalent of feline horror. "You _cannot_ be serious."

"I think reviewing the protocol might be useful for you as well, my Friend." Jalur _should _have told him. Having to explain it to Fooh and Beehn would reinforce the point.

"Fooh and Beehn, please go up to the top of the dell where the two of you will stay until the High King leaves, or he otherwise gives you a different order. No one else comes down here without My or His permission, understood?"

"Yes, King Edmund."

"Jalur will join you briefly to explain a bit more about some of the duties of a Palace Guard with which you may not yet be familiar, won't you Good Tiger?"

"Nothing would give me greater… pleasure."

Edmund could have sworn he heard "displeasure" in there, but Jalur spoke in such a huff it was hard to tell. "After that, Friend, you are welcome to enjoy the Pond."

With great dignity and some snapping at the heels of the Cheetahs, Jalur turned and herded the Cubs back up the hill.

The four Otters were glaring at him from just under the eaves of a Tree. Edmund heartily wished the spirit within would batter the beasts with seed pods, but the Tree was silent. He really wanted to let loose with a torrent of his own obscenity at the Otters, but that would just give them a new target. If he said nothing, they would turn on themselves. As he headed at last toward the Pond, shucking his clothes as he went, sure enough,

"Blimey, who floated the air biscuit!"

"Bloody hell. Sod off!"

"Me sod off! You sod off, you dick breath."

"Bugger yourself, you dick head."

"Dickfuck!"

"Dickweed!"

Plunging into the water was the cure for all, for the filthy Otters, for the clinging pollen, for the underlying tension of an entire day too preoccupied with things physical and intellectual beyond his reach. He dove down to the bottom, then up, swimming hard, scattering fish, willing his body to a more productive exercise. He needed something that would tire him in a meaningful way and hopefully refresh the soul and clear the mind. There had been a perpetual _edge_ to the day of pollinating dryads, princesses, corset-bursting cleavage, cream, and attractive, intelligent, evil Bankers in gowns of indeterminate green. While providing ample opportunity to display his rapier wit and astounding intellect, the effort required to respond to the unfolding situations was both exhausting and never fully satisfying. Wholly unlike what his brother had been enjoying.

Gah. Too much thinking.

From the middle of the Pond, he paused, treading water and saw Jalur racing down the hill. Evidently, the Tiger had, in some form or another, completed his instruction of the _Facts of Human Sexual Activity And How It Is Inexplicably Unlike Anything Remotely Normal You Will Otherwise Encounter Ever_. Oh to be a Rat in the room for that discussion! The questions! How could a Tiger possibly answer them when a man himself could not? Jalur paused for a truly fearsome roar in the direction of the Otters and then, with the wild abandonment of his kind, crashed into the water. His massive body hit the Pond with huge force, sending a wall of water up and back, drenching the Otters on the shore. Edmund dove again to avoid hearing the Otters' indignant, disgusting response.

He concentrated on swimming hard, letting the rhythm of the breathing and movement drive away the other distractions. Jalur undoubtedly needed some solitude as much as he did and, for the moment, Edmund neither wanted nor expected the Tiger to join him. They understood each other well enough.

Eventually, many, many laps across the Pond later, Edmund found something more like equilibrium returning. He swam a bit closer to shore, able to touch bottom and saw Peter wading toward him. Edmund decided he would stay where he was; given all that pollen, he wasn't going near Peter until his brother had thoroughly rinsed off.

His brother had a thoroughly satisfied grin plastered on his face, and was moving with the unconcerned languor of one who had enjoyed simply the very best day of his life and eagerly anticipated the next as even better than the last. The contented peace, naturalism, and vigor the High King embodied were all so very Narninan. Peter embraced (metaphorically _and _literally) the whole of and the very best of their Country, who loved him deeply in return. Edmund, who had toiled the day away in very un-Narnian pursuits, felt a fresh burst of irritation. Elimination of corsets was a most Narnian goal, he reasoned. _If I had spent the day doing that service to our Country, I would be feeling very well pleased too. _Maybe not quite as pleased as Peter, concededly, as there had been no clotted cream nor dresses of indeterminate green flung on to canopy tops. He shoved the intruding thoughts aside, finding it required an extra push of mental effort. Not relevant.

_If he says_ "_It's good to be King_,"_ I shall pummel him senseless. _

_And, if he says_ "_It's good to be __**High**__ King_," _I'll murder him, hide the body and no Narnian will ever blame me for it. _

The High King took his time, finally diving under and surfacing next to him.

"Hullo Brother," Peter finally said, turning himself over to float lazily on his back. "Beautiful day, isn't it? It's good to…"

"ARRGHH!" Edmund screamed, and reaching under the water, grabbed his brother around the torso, lifted him up, and threw him into deeper water.

As Peter surfaced, sputtering with a few almost Otter-like oaths of his own, Edmund sprayed and splashed with all his might, then threw himself at his brother, knocking him down and sending him underwater again.

Peter, confound him, came up laughing, infuriatingly out of reach. He was still the taller and could touch bottom where Edmund could not. "Feeling better now, Ed?"

"You lazy, thick-witted…" _Wait. _"What?"

His brother just laughed again, and resumed floating on his back, but now in the deeper water. "I was going to say that it's good to see you out here, instead of the Library."

"You are the one who gave me only ten days to figure the Lone Islands Tax Code," Edmund shot back.

"And you know I said that to make sure Susan helped you. That Code has been there for well over a hundred years. If it takes Us, by which I mean You, a few months to work it out, so be it."

"Oh." The anger and frustration of a very trying day trickled out of him, rather like that juice down Even More Dim's too tight bodice. _Well I am the brute_. Edmund realized he'd said that aloud.

"Sometimes," Peter agreed mildly. "Though you have had more than enough cause lately. With the allergies, you cannot enjoy what is otherwise a really lovely part of Spring, and worse still, know that the rest of us are. You were so irate from the overt manipulation of a Princess that you dumped a pitcher down her front and are proposing to ban corsets forever. You have locked yourself in the Library all day pouring over something that I have come to understand is fiendishly difficult."

_And in my self-absorption, I really did not think you would have noticed. But, Peter always did. A man who cares so much about a Fledgling's life and tolerates the vapidity of a Princess for the good of his Country certainly attends to my petty troubles as well. _

The mud and muck at the pond's bottom were feeling a bit too squishy; Edmund launched off to join Peter in the middle of the pond, treading and bobbing as Peter floated about like a cork. With a kick, Peter moved further away. "I am not letting you come near if you intend to try to drown me again."

"No. I am sorry about that. Why are you here, anyway? I thought you would have left."

"Oh, the usual dust up. Turns out that two of the Dwarfs in the party are Mrs. Furner's sons and there was no way she was going to let them go off without a night under her roof."

"So we are now entertaining a score of Dwarfs, two Princesses and an Evil Banker? Mr. Hoberry and Cook must be hysterical. Come to think, when I stopped in the kitchens, Cook was hysterical."

"Susan locked Mr. Hoberry, Mrs. Furner and Cook in a room and told them to work that out. The result is that the Dwarfs shall camp on the tilting field for the night, which suits everyone very well." Peter splashed his way a bit closer. "And who is the Evil Banker? Do you mean Lady Morgan?"

"_Evil Banker-Not-A-Lady _Morgan is of the merchant banking House of Linch, which, with the Houses of Stanleh, Sterns, and Meryll, is wealthy enough to buy Narnia outright with change left over for a substantial investment in Calormen as well."

"I see." Peter flipped over, plunged down and surfaced, now standing. "Well, that certainly explains some of luncheon then."

So, Susan, Lucy, Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch and Peter enjoyed luncheon in the Conservatory while Edmund slaved away on taxes. There would have been too much pollen for him to have withstood it. Most certainly. Probably. Maybe.

"Was there clotted cream on the menu?" _Oh Aslan, did I really just say that?_

Peter frowned, almost, but not quite a Most Royal Frown. "Should I have understood what you just said?"

"Never mind." Edmund took another dive down, touched some lovely slime, and came back up, more grounded. "So what happened?"

"Lucy has taken quite the liking to Lady Morgan."

_Uh oh._

"They were in the thick of it, with Lucy explaining all about the Telmar River Beaver lodge situation. And Evil Banker or no, Lady Morgan provided far more intelligent conversation than we have had with a guest in a while."

_Under no circumstances am I telling him about her thigh circumference measures. _

"And Susan?"

"The usual. Asking all those polite questions that were really all about the Lone Islands business."

"Of which Evil Banker Morgan was extremely knowledgeable."

"Quite. Now granted, I think this is for the most part because Lucy is as thoroughly fed up with Princesses as you, but she offered, and Lady Morgan accepted, and in the next day or so the two of them will be off to the Telmar River together."

Edmund had been trying to stay relaxed, floating, thinking of pond slime and how it was not the least bit like clotted cream. This brought him up floundering and sputtering. "_**What?**_ Lucy can't do that!"

This one was a true MRF. "To paraphrase what I believe you said to Susan earlier today, Our Valiant Sister most certainly can and may chose the company she keeps and if you wish to talk her out of it, you will need better argument than _that_."

If Peter had an MRF, the Just King had his own Most Fierce Scowl and he now unleashed it on the High King. He had tempted fate today, and it had come back and bitten him hard. He had not thought the month could get any worse, and it had. Pollen, Princesses, Taxes, and now a Most Beloved Sister consorting with an Evil Banker.

Peter shrugged, no more affected by the MFS than Edmund was by the MRF, and started wading toward shore.

"Regardless, once that was decided and Lucy and Morgan began plotting their adventure, luncheon took a turn for the peculiar, even by Narnian standards. Harah swooped in, bobbed her head twice, squawked, 'Shiny! Shiny!,' stole the Lady Morgan's knife out of her hand and flew off with it."

Edmund laughed, as well and as hard as he had all day. "Good for her! And Susan chased Harah out of the room?"

"In one. At that point, even I knew something was afoot, although I certainly had not assumed it was an Evil Banker who poses what you believe to be some threat to Narnia, but which I admit I am hard pressed to understand myself."

"Well, Evil Banker Morgan is by nature of a more subtle type. It is not as if she has stated outright that her purposes are to Usurp Our Crown, Incite Insurrection, Commit Heinous Offenses, and/or Attempt Seduction of one or more of the Monarchs."

Peter flung back his arm and sent a wave of water arcing back in Edmund's face. "You must rehearse these lines in the mirror, Brother. There is no other explanation."

Edmund blew pond water out his nose, finding it actually rather relieving of the pollen. "I do not need to rehearse, High King. My rapier wit and astounding intellect suffice."

He got another faceful of water for that one. Jalur was also paddling back to shore, a striped shark in the water, making a beeline toward the Otters who were wrestling in the mud.

"You are such a wanker, wanker!"

"Oi. Piss-arse you wankshaft, get your effing arse out of my face."

"Boggin wanktard, let go you dickfuck!"

Peter glanced over at the Otter pit with disgust. "Jalur!" he shouted to the swimming Tiger, "you have Our Permission!" For what exactly was unclear, but Peter trusted Jalur to take his authority to the full extent allowed of the Palace Guard, and perhaps a step or two beyond. The Tiger sped up in the water, nearly creating a wake, Otters in his sights.

"To her considerable credit," Peter continued, "Lady Morgan took the theft of her silverware in very good humour. When Susan came back with Harah, she accepted the apology, told Harah that the knife was not really hers to give, but promised something else should she find it on the trip to the Telmar basin. Susan tried to hint that wouldn't Lady Morgan rather stay here than go off with Lucy, but the two of them would not be dissuaded. Harah for her part went on about the pretty silver thread in Lady Morgan's green gown, which of course the rest of us could not see, and admired her shiny hair."

Edmund turned right back around, made a shallow dive into the pond, blowing out bubbles of extreme aggravation as he surfaced. _I really did not need to hear that. _Pulling himself up, and slogging toward Peter, he was now thoroughly resigned to the fact that the oozing mud between his toes probably bore very little resemblance to clotted cream and that it was the closest he would come to the sensation any time soon.

"You're a chuffing wankerfuckwit, you are."

"Effing wanksplat."

"Quit biting you wankstain."

"Bleeding Hell!" an Otter screeched. "It's that effing Tiger!"

Jalur surged out of the water like a golden tidal wave.

"Oi, you fuckwits! RUN!"

With an ear piercing split whistle from Peter, Fooh and Beehn bolted from their posts at the top of the dell, and raced down into the bowl on an intercept course with the fleeing Otters. The Otters turned, and trapped between the Tiger on one side and the Cheetahs on the other, scampered into the woods. Most Blessed Peace fell.

Jalur shook himself very thoroughly, showering the Cheetahs with spray from his water-logged coat.

The Cats all bounded forward in high, damp spirits and it was impossible to feel anything but joy at their vanquishing of the dreaded Otter foe.

* * *

A word about those otters. Yes, I know they are cute. I like them too. They are however of the Family _Mustelidae_, from which also come the weasels, the tenacious badger and the ornery wolverine. At our local zoo, keepers will go into the cheetah enclosure, but not the one with the Asian otters if the animals are present. A trio of brother otters from Singapore killed and ate a python that had wandered into their enclosure and when the brothers themselves were en route to the U.S., they escaped their cargo containers on the airplane, wreaking havoc.

_In which a Narnian occasion is planned, a Queen manages a situation, and a Raven instructs His King. _

Thank you for all the reviews and alerts and things. I'm very flattered and am glad you are enjoying it.

* * *

Chapter 5: Management to follow


	5. Chapter 5 Management

**By Royal Decree  
****Chapter 5: Chapter 5 Management**

_In which a Narnian occasion is planned, a Queen manages a situation, an Evil Banker's plot is exposed, and a Raven instructs his King. _

* * *

Toweled off and dressed, Edmund headed back up the dell, Jalur stalking ahead with quite the swagger in his step. If Peter was going to farewell the Dryad, he wanted to be well away. His brother however, came jogging up behind before he was even half way back, so it had either been brief or the Dryad had moved on.

Jalur was so contented, the Tiger did not even growl as Fooh stalked him and Beehn tried batting his tail.

In the back of his mind, an insistent voice was reminding him that something about that last section of the Tax Code had been important. This, Edmund did push to the side, but as relevant. He needed to think on it… would attack it anew tomorrow…

"Edmund?" Peter had placed a hand on his arm. "Are you well? You seem very preoccupied."

He could not quite stop the long suffering sigh. "I am preoccupied, Peter. This tax matter is as difficult as anything I have seen and Aslan Guide Me, because I am going to need it. The presence of Banker Morgan of the House of Linch adds considerably to my unease." He would leave out just how uneasy and at how many disparate levels. "I find the timing of her visit too convenient."

Peter nodded. "I understand, and truly what you do is appreciated, know that if nothing else."

_The compliment, which he did like to hear, was to soften what comes next. _

"I would point out to you, though, that if Lady Morgan was here as a spy, she would have been more subtle about it; and if here as an emissary, rather more formal about it."

"Your mouth is moving Peter, but I hear Susan's voice."

"Well, yes, we did discuss it. Neither of us thinks you are wrong to be suspicious. But, beginnings are delicate things. Given what is shaping to be a difficult situation, we could do with an insider's view of finance in the Lone Islands, and Aslan take us if you of all people do not have the wit to see that."

"I do not disagree, Peter. I am still going to discuss it with Lucy. I would be concerned with an unknown person accompanying any of us on the road."

"Of course."

It was very quiet. The Moles had packed up for the day; the garden was empty save for the bees and the Hummingbirds' epithets. Really, the Hummingbirds were almost as bad as the Otters. Even the Songbirds were singing, rather than squabbling.

"The Mischief did get back to you? Some Rat gave you the names of the Songbirds?"

"Oh yes. Lady Willa herself, in fact, so my thanks. I met with the Birds after luncheon, gave them a dressing down, and hopefully this will be the last of it for this season."

Jalur slowed as they came to the final bend on the path back to the castle. "The Lady Morgan comes."

_Isn't that always the way of it? _

"It's the soap lady, King Peter," Fooh said.

"Lavender soap," Beehn added, not to be outdone.

"Thank you Friends," Peter said through a smile.

It was handy to know what approached, particularly when the foe was quite unawares.

Evil Banker Morgan rounded the turn, stopped hard, and dipped into her awkward bowing curtsey. "Your Majesties, Good Cats."

They, of course, were required to bow in kind, but really they were quite the sight, what with soggy towels dragging on the ground, barefoot, and everything every which way and wet.

"Lady Morgan, this is going to get a bit old," Peter said heartily. "Please dispense with the curtsies every time you see Us, and We will dispense with their equivalent."

Edmund watched carefully. The High King in so casual, damp, charming a state was usually sufficient provocation for ladies to gasp, pale, and faint dead away on the spot. Would the effect be the same on an Evil Banker? He held himself at the ready. Maybe he could catch Evil Banker Morgan on the way down and ascertain definitively if there was a corset under that gown of indeterminate green with unseen pretty silver thread.

But drat it all, she seemed quite immune. Oh wait, that was a _good_ thing. Wasn't it?

"Thank you." Pause. "King Peter."

Evil Banker Morgan was juggling her own towel, oilcloth bag, and a basket with three oranges.

In the corner of his vision, Edmund spotted a black shape flit into the branches of a hearty oak. Pollen flitted down. He sneezed.

Evil Banker Morgan sneezed too.

"On the way to the Pond, then?" Peter said, offering a clean handkerchief that appeared magically out of thin air; Edmund did not think Evil Banker Morgan would have wanted the soggy, soiled one he had dragged out of his pocket to use himself.

Evil Banker Morgan had a handkerchief of her own though.

"Yes," Evil Banker Morgan said, confirming the obvious and adjusting the bag slung over her arm.

"Have care with the Otters. They can offend," Peter said, quite gallantly, really. He thoughtfully tucked Evil Banker Morgan's dragging towel into the basket for her. "Would you like us to send a guard down with you to chase them away?"

How does he think of these kindly, gentlemanly, kingly things? Is it any wonder they puddle into pools at his feet? Edmund wondered, peevishly, if a shovel and dustbin were handy, even a mop. While _Peter_ was being all considerate, _he_ was wondering what was in the bag Evil Banker Morgan carried. Messages to send via a hidden bird or bat? A secret letter drop to some unseen co-conspirator? Mind-softening poisons with which to pollute the Pond? Soap? Lavender soap? Brush for her hair the Crow Hen said was shiny? Oils...

His fertile imagination reached in, throttled his rational thought, and now gamboled about free and unfettered at that prospect of the Evil Banker Morgan doing very un-ladylike things hindered by neither corset nor gown of indeterminate green with unseen silvery thread, whilst bathing in the Pond and how between her toes cool mud oozed that bore some superficial resemblance to clotted cream. Edmund willed what wits remained of him to run after his too vivid imagination, tackle it, and wrestle it into submission. It was thus that he was able to ponder the vital question, why the basket of oranges for a bath?

"No, thank you." Pause. "King Peter." Another pause. "The Queen Susan was sending a Hound."

"Oranges?" Edmund blurted out.

"They are for the Otters." With this hesitation, she shot an enigmatic look at Jalur, "King Edmund."

"Gifts for those brutes?" Peter asked, all amazement.

Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch shook her head. Was her hair shiny? Edmund really could not tell. It still looked brown.

"A distraction." Here, even the Cats perked their furry ears to listen with interest. "Oranges float and roll; the Otters quite enjoy them."

"But there are four Otters," Jalur injected. "You have only three oranges. They will fight over them."

"They will, Sir Jalur. I am counting on it."

Judging from the admiring stares on the other four faces, one human, three Feline, the sheer deviousness of the ploy hit them all at about the same moment. Edmund, on the other hand, was not the least surprised; Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch was, after all, an Evil Banker.

"The Queen Susan did ask that if I were to see you, would you look for her in the stables. She wished to speak to you both." The afterthought. "Your Majesties."

With an incline of her head, Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch continued on down the path. Behind her, Harah trailed. Edmund gave the Crow Hen a two finger salute as she flew by. _Carry on, Friend._

"Edmund, I think I begin to see the basis for your concerns," Peter whispered, watching her go with uncomfortably frank admiration. "Her contract, does it disclose…"

"Oh yes," Edmund interrupted. "It does. Huge. Elephantine."

"I would not have expected that."

"Gowns hide a multitude of ills. Best to look to a Dryad if you want that certainty, eh?"

Peter just laughed. "Indeed. Shall we to the Stables? If Susan is there, it does not bode well for her temperament."

"And that of the Hell Bitch," Edmund muttered.

* * *

Edmund and Peter picked their way carefully into the stable yard. It was decidedly not the place to be when barefoot. The trees were sparser though and Edmund was not the least bit allergic to hay, straw or horses.

Susan was at the ready, practical riding clothes on, bow and quiver slung over her back, the Horn at her side, and her horse saddled and impatient. Still, Edmund and Peter with him kept their distance, as did the stable hands and every other creature, Talking and Dumb.

For the Hell Bitch was dancing attendance upon the Queen Susan.

"Stop hanging back you two," Susan called to them, gesturing them over. She was standing at the mounting block, pulling on her gloves, the Hell Bitch's reins draped over her shoulder.

Edmund looked at Peter. Peter looked at him. _I'm not going any nearer, are you?_ Edmund still had the scar on his upper arm from the last time he got too close to the Hell Bitch when Susan was with the mare.

Lambert, highly intelligent and experienced Guard that he was, stood well to the side, watching every move of the skittish gray mare warily. The He-Wolf knew better than any what the Hell Bitch would do.

Peter, always thinking he had the special way with horses, stepped forward. The Hell Bitch whinnied angrily and pinned her ears back.

"Oh, stop that my Love," Susan cooed. "It's just Peter." The mare's eyes softened and she whickered, nosing Susan's shoulder.

Edmund was eyeing the back leg the mare suddenly picked up as Peter took another step forward. His brother had taken one of the Hell Bitch's quick strikes in the stomach a few months ago.

"Peter! 'Ware the back!"

"Oh by the Lion! You two are ridiculous! Let me mount, and then she'll know we're going and will settle."

Edmund heartily thanked Aslan that Susan was so accomplished a rider, she needed no aid as she swung up. Any who had ever approached thinking that it was only gentlemanly to help the Queen Susan mount still bore the scars of the Hell Bitch, who begged to differ with the assessment that her rider needed any assistance, from anyone.

Once Susan was astride, the mare did stop rolling her eyes at them. Susan held the reins in one hand, while administering another soothing pat to the fretting mare's neck. "Easy, Love. We are going, just you and I, in a moment." The mare's ears swiveled back, catching the dulcet tones of her Queen.

"Quickly now," Susan began, "are you both attending?"

"Yes, Queen Susan," they both mimicked back.

The Hell Bitch stamped angrily. Dumb beast though she was, she was very sensitive, both of herself and to the moods of her mistress. The mare did not appreciate others taking _that_ tone with _her_ Gentle Queen.

"First off, Peter, you are taking the Princesses with you tomorrow, South."

"I'm WHAT! Susan, absolutely not!"

The Hell Bitch took a menacing step forward, baring her teeth at any who dared contradict her rider.

"Not the whole way of course. The Princesses actually lasted three days longer than I had anticipated before Edmund lost his temper, so we are ahead of schedule. King Lune already has a party on the way and will meet you all on the road. Two days, at the most, and you shall be rid of them. And, two days with twenty Dwarfs and you at your most Narnian, and the Princesses Begonia and Peony will be quite glad to see the back of you as well."

"Susan," Peter began.

"If Edmund and I are to take a serious look at this Lone Islands business, we need them gone, Peter."

Edmund knew, and Peter did as well, that resistance to this scheme was futile. It was classic Susan – two days maneuvering ahead of everyone else and the plan already underway so you were helpless to stop it.

"And as for that, Edmund!"

He had been cautiously watching the Hell Bitch's hindquarters, which, despite Susan's firm hand, were slowly moving in his direction. Edmund moved carefully another step away.

"Yes, Sister?"

"I have done what I can but Lucy is determined to take Lady Morgan on this Telmar River business. I have asked Jina to spend some time with Lady Morgan. None of the other Good Beasts have sensed anything untoward, other than that curious observation of lavender soap, but Jina is the best judge of any. Also, I have asked Jina to accompany them, as personal support to Briony. Will you see to assignment of other appropriate Guard?"

Susan had to pause in her instruction as an elderly Hedgehog waddled into the yard, muttering to herself. To the Hell Bitch, the little Sow was plainly of the poisonous spine, highly flammable, arrow spewing variety, bent on assassination. The mare snorted and laid her ears back at this Very Scary Monster. With a firm nudge from Susan, the Hell Bitch swung her flanks away from the oblivious little thing before the mare could strike, and the Sow wandered off into the brush.

Crisis averted, Susan continued, "I have made some discrete inquiries to my contacts in the Lone Islands, but any response will take a week or more."

The Hell Bitch stamped angrily, even though all Edmund did was murmur, "Excellent all around, Su. I will take care of the Guard."

Susan reached behind and patted the mare's twitchy flanks. "No kicking, Lovey. My brother is no threat to my affection for you."

The mare gave him a truly baleful stare but the hind leg did return to the ground.

"Also, Edmund, despite the misgivings, I will say Lady Morgan offered some very sensible suggestions. She recommended we pay particular attention to subtitle C, miscellaneous excise taxes, and the taxation of Narnian entities as foreign corporations, which when one considers it, is not sound at all."

Edmund acknowledged that with a wave and a nod. This validation of his own concerns was reassuring and he and Susan could address it more thoroughly when she was not astride a mare bent on his murder.

"Last, although it is the last night for you, Peter, _and_ the Princesses, _and_ the Dwarfs, _and_ possibly, Lucy and Lady Morgan as well, we are _not_ having a farewell banquet as planned."

Susan huffed with exasperation, but it was token only. "For _that _we have Ibiza's boy to thank who snuck back into the kitchens this afternoon while the two of you were off cavorting in the Otter Romp."

_Oh no._

Peter said that aloud.

"_Oh yes_," Susan said, with a smile. "I recall Ibiza himself did something similar when he was a puppy. His boy stole the haunch intended for supper."

"And Cook?" Edmund managed to wheeze out through his laughter.

"Quite overcome. I have sent her to bed with a willow bark pain reliever and strict orders not to boil a single potato. We will not see her until tomorrow noon."

"So, a Narnian occasion then?" Peter said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Yes. We shall eat on the lawn, whatever is leftover from today, no utensils, with each person to wash his or her own plate and glass. If we all drink enough wine and ale, we shan't miss the meat at all, and no one shall even hear the twenty Dwarfs snoring in the tilting field."

Susan gathered her reins; the Hell Bitch shook herself in readiness and pawed the ground. "If any of our guests object, there is nothing we may do. This is Narnia, and if too rustic at times for their tastes, they may go to a more refined place to be at their ease. I am going for a nice long ride, I hope to shoot something, and I will not be back until supper. You have my full support in assuring that no one wears shoes the rest of the night. I leave to your own devices, Edmund, how you shall confirm the absence of corsets."

They both bowed to their Sister. "Oh, and Edmund, Brother, _Dear_."

That did not bode well.

"You _shall_, _please_, make _some_ amend to the Princess Peony. I won't have angry letters coming back at me. Yes, censure was warranted, I grant. It was the method of delivery that was problematic."

With that, Susan gave the Hell Bitch her head, and the mare sprang away, Lambert loping after them.

Everyone and everything breathed a relieved sigh.

"The man who wins that mare…" Peter began, watching as the pair flew across the field and over the pasture fence.

"Is the man who shall win the Gentle Queen," Edmund finished. "I've thought of putting that in her courtship contract, actually. I do think though it is better to keep the Hell Bitch in reserve as a final character test."

* * *

Had a banquet been in the offing, the atmosphere would have been frenetic, with clattering hooves and slapping feet, billowing fabrics, shouts and calls, crashing serving ware, and smells of the sort to make even those with less nose than that of a Hound very hungry. With no cooking, no preparation, no anything but what they would make do with in the twilight, it was more peaceful. Mr. Hoberry, not having to oversee the readying of rooms for twenty Dwarfs and a banquet for thirty, was in the dining hall, setting out the tin and earthenware.

"Good afternoon, your Majesties," the Faun said. "Did you speak to the Queen Susan about our changes in plans?"

"We did," Peter said. "It is, of course, fine with us, preferable even."

The Faun was staring at a stack of neatly folded linens. "I had intended to ask Queen Susan what we should do for napkins, but neglected to do so. How very careless of me."

If Mr. Hoberry had made so grievous an error, it was surely the first in recorded history.

"I know that if I were to ask Your Majesties about napkins, the answer will be, 'Don't bother,' which would make Our Gentle Queen cross if she heard of it. Moreover, I am certain that even with napkins, King Peter, you will just wipe your hands on the grass, and you, King Edmund will use your sleeve. As such, I shall just return these to the closet, and there won't be any additional washing tomorrow." He did not wait for a response, allowing them to plead ignorance should Susan ask. The Faun began collecting the linens. "I believe my time will be better allotted to securing sufficient willow bark pain reliever for what will be an undoubtedly very late breakfast tomorrow."

"An excellent idea, Mr. Hoberry," Edmund agreed.

"If we move the dishwashing tubs out of doors as well, that will make it all the easier, with less mess in the scullery." Peter offered. "Ask Mrs. Furner to order some of the Dwarfs to help with that. They would not dare refuse her."

"Mrs. Furner is assisting the Princesses with their packing, but I shall speak to her."

"Send a Tiger or a Warthog to help them," Edmund injected. "That will hurry it along."

Jalur snarled from his post by the door, apparently incapable of any further conversation for the day. Uppity Tiger. Jalur had reached his limit of social interaction for a solitary species and needed a nap.

Mr. Hoberry trotted over to the cupboard, the linens into his arms, and began methodically reshelving them in their proper place as if they had never even been thought of at all. "King Edmund, I am reminded of the excitement at luncheon today involving the Crow Hen and one of our best knives that the Princesses have been complaining that some of their ornaments have gone missing. I merely draw your attention to it and shall now forget that I ever knew of it."

Oh, yes, he needed to speak to Sallowpad about that. "Thank you, Mr. Hoberry. One last thing, and then we shall leave you to your excellent duty and hopefully a bit of rest. Have you seen Queen Lucy?"

"She is in the Library, King Edmund. She and Lady Morgan went there after you left. However, Lady Morgan left a short time ago for the Pond."

Library? Lucy? That was his and Susan's domain. Peter's occasionally. Lucy's duties and province seldom brought her up there.

His Valiant Sister was indeed in the Library, with a map of what looked to be of the Telmar River and Pliny the Elder's _Animalia and Botanica of Narnia_. Lucy was bent over a piece of parchment and taking notes.

"Hello Edmund," she said, not even looking up. "The answer is no, still no, and will remain no."

Edmund gestured Jalur to watch the door. He nodded to Briony who was lounging in the same sunny spot Jalur had been in most of the day. "Hello, Lucy. How are you?"

He went to his desk, removed his blue flag and put it in the pot on the window ledge. That was Sallowpad's signal, and if the Raven Cock was about, he would be by shortly.

"Are you as pleased as I am that it will be a Narnian occasion tonight? No shoes and I have license to determine which ladies are wearing corsets by whatever means I choose."

"The answer is no, still no, and will remain no," Lucy repeated.

There was an odd thickness to her voice. She was seated at the desk Evil Banker Morgan had occupied. Edmund pulled his own chair over, next to Lucy.

"I am at a loss as to what to do should a lady actually be wearing corset. Do you have any suggestions? I have considered giving any violators to the mercy of the Otters. Who, by the way, had the fright of their lives today when caught between Jalur, Fooh, and Beehn. "

"The answer is no, still no, and will remain no."

There was no mistaking it now that he heard it again. Also, there were splotches on her notes about Beaver diets and the flora of the Telmar River valley.

"Best news of all, Susan is sending the Princesses away and they will get to spend a whole day or more on the road with Peter and twenty Red Dwarfs. I do hope it rains."

"The answer is no, still no, and will remain no." Another tear splashed down her nose on to her notes.

"Here," he said, as gently as he could, handing her the least disgusting of the handkerchiefs mouldering in his pockets. "It's mostly clean, I think. Why tears, Lu?"

She took the handkerchief, but used it to blot the drops on her carefully written parchment. "I am crying because you are going to tell me beastly things about Morgan and try to make me not take her with me to Telmar. I'm frustrated and angry about that, and I don't bellow or get mean, or cold, like you, and Peter, and Susan do when you are frustrated or angry. I cry. So, that is why I am crying."

Fair enough. "I almost cried today over the Lone Islands Tax Code," he told her. "So, I certainly understand."

He tried putting his arm around her, but Lucy was quite uncompromising. "Trying to be nice first before you swing the axe is an argument in which Peter specializes," she said rigidly.

"And how he makes you feel an absolute heel if you do not do what he wants."

"Are you going to try that one too?" Lucy blew her nose and then looked at the damp, soiled handkerchief. "I think I'll keep this for now."

"Lucy, I told Peter the same thing that I now tell you. I would be concerned if any of us went on the road alone with someone about whom we know so little."

His sister rolled her eyes at him in annoyance. "Briony, dear, would you let me share a tent with the Lady Morgan during our trip?"

The She-Wolf growled through a "Certainly not, my Queen. You and I shall sleep together. Jina is coming as well; we should discuss this further, but it would be my recommendation that she be with Lady Morgan. We will take an appropriate Guard as well, of course."

"And who is being made the heel now, Lucy? Your precautions are admirable, and do relieve my mind, some. Briony, I thank you for your care of My Sister." Edmund was beginning to feel very much out-maneuvered. It was an unaccustomed, and unpleasant, feeling. "But, Lady Morgan is from a very wealthy, very prominent Lone Islands merchant banking house and she arrives at a very peculiar moment. At a minimum, she did not declare these interests, and she must have divided loyalties."

"Did you bother to ask her of any of this, Edmund?" Lucy challenged, in a perfectly reasonable voice. "Did you query _in a serious way_ why she was here? What she hoped to accomplish?"

"Well, no," he had to concede. _She had mentioned that 'Learning the Business of Governance from the Narnian Monarchs,' but that was just nonsense. They all say that. _"We did have a good discussion about the numbering of the Tax Code sections and whether a flat tax might be too regressive."

Lucy shut her eyes and buried her head in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking. With laughter. What was so amusing? It _had_ been a very useful discussion.

His sister pulled herself upright, and, even if it had been at his expense, he was glad to see her lighten. "Brother, even now, after all this time, still you do astonish me. I will tell you that my observation, based upon some discussion with Lady Morgan, is that what she desires from us, we may provide at no cost or risk, and that we, in return, desire nothing from her or her House."

_Desire. _Edmund wished Lucy had not used that word. His imagination easily conjured several truly outrageous things it in fact ardently desired of Evil Banker Morgan.

"But someday, Lucy? If one day we need a bigger warship, or we have a drought and need income to buy food? We might need the House of Linch then. And if she has reported on our weaknesses that could be very difficult to accomplish."

"All the more reason to establish a good relationship with Lady Morgan so that if such a day comes, we have an ally and friend where it is needed."

His vivid imagination was jumping up and down gleefully at words like "good," "need," "ally" and friend" (although it shied from "relationship") as these descriptors were on the way to other, even more fascinating words, like soft, hard, and moan... The rational part of his mind, spoilsport that it was, kept trying to hammer his imagination down with a big mallet. Edmund was getting a headache.

The ink and the tear splotches dry, Lucy began carefully gathering up her materials.

"Morgan helped me this afternoon. She has been in here all week reading on our laws and how we resolve disputes when two of our subjects conflict over their respective rights to a peaceful existence. Her ideas are very bookish, but I greatly appreciate the effort she made. It is certainly far more sincere than that put forth by most of our other guests."

"Yes," he had to admit, "Lady Morgan was helpful to me as well."

"Edmund, I know that you find these Princesses and ladies playing court all very dreary. Imagine it from my view. I am expected to be with them, to entertain them, to be friends with them. Do you want to know what I really like most about Morgan, even in the brief time I have known her?"

He was not going to say anything about shiny hair. Or clotted cream. Or circumferences. Or her devious Otter stratagems. By Aslan, that was a brilliant! Or that there probably was nothing under Evil Banker Morgan's gown of indeterminate green with unseen pretty silver thread except Evil Banker Morgan.

"Brother!" Lucy was snapping her fingers.

"Yes, sorry Lucy. You were saying," he swallowed, "what you like about Lady Morgan?"

Lucy narrowed her eyes and looked at him in an uncomfortably searching way. She then continued, uttering each syllable very precisely, "She Does Not Talk Incessantly About You Or Peter."

Half a moment. Lucy thought that was a bad thing? Why would it be bad if Evil Banker Morgan talked about him incessantly? That would be rather flattering. Now, Peter, he could understand. _Oh._

"Yes, Lu, I can see how that would be tedious for you."

She snorted. "Your favorite colours, your favorite foods, '_will he like this gown or that one_,' '_how does he ever manage that big sword_.' It drives me spare, Edmund. I love you and Peter both, but as topics of conversation, you are duller than toast."

This meant that Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch was not minutely concerned with every insignificant detail of his well-being! He was crushed. Or relieved. Edmund was not actually sure. He had a headache.

"Morgan is a bit queer and strange by my standards, and she is terribly reserved, but I like her for all that because she is trying to overcome her more natural inclinations. I shall trust Aslan that He will not lead me astray here. And…" His younger sister turned rather fierce, and he saw that lioness within her. "If you dare try to tell me of the Faun, the flood, and the boat, I shall hit you."

"Very foolish Faun!" a voice barked from the window. "All should know that Aslan wishes us to do what we may to save ourselves so he does not have to do it himself." Sallowpad, Raven Cock, and Chief of the Murder, hopped into the room. "Good day, my King and Queen, Royal Guard. How may I serve?"

"That," Lucy said with finality, "is the hint for me to take my leave." She rose from her seat.

"Hold, Sister, if it please you. You may enjoy this bit of business." Edmund crossed over to the window and offered his arm to Sallowpad. "Thank you for coming, Friend. I need your advice."

The Raven jumped on to Edmund's desk and turned his head to the side, attentive.

"The Princesses leave tomorrow," he told Sallowpad.

"Dim and Even More Dim, yes, toward Archenland with the High King and the Red Dwarfs." The Raven cackled with very crow-like glee. "So many Crows volunteered to go along, we have had a lottery!"

Lucy laughed. "You all just love pile ups and trouble, don't you?"

"And such screeching, Queen Lucy!" Sallowpad bobbed his head. "I may go myself!"

"I would keep your wits and eyes here for the time, Chief," Edmund told the Raven. "Regardless, I have learned that the Princesses are missing a number of their ornaments. Your good assistance in seeing them returned would be most appreciated."

Sallowpad ruffled his feathers in annoyance. "The young ones, I suspect. I apologize, my King, for the embarrassment. Should I make amend to the Princesses?"

"No, just see the trinkets returned to them as quickly as it may be done. Any Bird that returns what is not his or hers will have My Amnesty, of course. I had thought of a reward as well."

The Cock croaked his disagreement. "No reward, your Majesty! They will just steal more next time in hopes of a bigger one!"

With mincing steps, the Raven walked across Edmund's desk to the box of Shinys. With his beak, he pushed the box open and studied the bits inside. Sallowpad seldom took anything, but did enjoy admiring them. "I will tell the Crows that those who do not return stolen items will not receive another Shiny of King Edmund."

"Oh, Sallowpad, Friend, you are harsh!" Lucy exclaimed.

"My Queen! I know my Crows!" Sallowpad croaked. "I will also order beetle races tonight at the Occasion. They will want to return the Princess' Pretties because if a thieving Crow loses a King Edmund Shiny in the betting, he or she won't be able to replace it!"

"Harsh indeed, my Chief," Edmund said, smiling. "And slyly done. The races will also be a good opportunity to find out any who have not returned the Princess' Pretties. I do not think a Crow would be able to resist wagering one, if he or she still had it."

"Well thought out, King Edmund," the Raven said. The Cock returned to his close inspection of the Shinys in the box. "There it is," he muttered to himself. His beak darted in and came out with a twisty thread of brilliant copper wire. Bobbing his head with satisfaction, he set the wire on a patch of late sun hitting the desk. "Very pretty. Very like Lady Morgan's hair."

_Even the Crows_.

Lucy laughed merrily. "Edmund, did you hear about that at luncheon? How Harah wanted to comb Morgan's hair for Pretties and Shinys?"

His imagination began tossing up ever more exotic variations on shiny hair, clotted cream, and oils that might have been in that bag, if not secret messages to unseen co-conspirators. His reason scattered in all directions, casting out long lines to snare the extravagant whims, haul them back in, and stuff them into a very cold sack. Through a tightening throat, Edmund managed, "Peter mentioned it, yes."

"And that," Lucy said, "truly is where I take my leave. I do not wish to hear anymore of this." She put a hand on his shoulder. "With all the fuss of tonight and tomorrow, I think Morgan and I should leave the day after. That will give you time to assemble an appropriate Guard, yes?"

Edmund nodded, bowing to the inevitable, noting that Lucy had already abandoned Evil Banker Morgan's titles.

"Jina and I will have recommendations, King Edmund," Briony said. "Perhaps tonight we might discuss them?"

"Well…"

Lucy laughed. "My Dear Friend! Tonight, there will be too little food, too much wine, beetle racing, dueling Dwarf and Faun music, and dancing with the Dryads until dawn. Tomorrow would be better, I think. Edmund, don't you think so?"

"Excepting the dancing with Dryads, of course." Edmund waved a handkerchief to underscore the personal hazard of that activity.

Lucy gave him a sad, sympathetic smile. "I _am_ sorry for you about that. I am sure it is not much fun for you at all."

_No. Not fun at all. Quite morosely dreary, in fact._

She gathered up her notes and leaned in to give him a peck on the check. "Thank you for not making too much a fuss. It will be well. Put whatever Good Beasts of fearsome tooth and claw and fast wing in My Guard that will allay your worries."

Edmund rallied to squeeze her hand in return. "A Giant, perhaps?"

"That _might_ be a bit too much. Edmund, I suggest as an alternative that you try actually speaking to Morgan of your concerns, and listening to her answers." She frowned a moment, searching his face; Edmund, unaccountably felt warmly uncomfortable. "If I may say, your reactions seem a _bit_ disproportionate. Perhaps you should reflect on that."

Reflecting on pollinating dryads, corsets and clotted cream is what had gotten him into this state in the first place. He was never so grateful for a sneeze.

"I will," Edmund said, blowing his nose. He wished he was lying. Unfortunately it was becoming painfully likely that these very persistent reflections would be dogging him until Evil-Banker-Not-A-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch left Cair Paravel with Lucy.

As Lucy and Briony were leaving, Sallowpad called, "Good day, your Highness, Briony. Please close the door as you leave."

Jalur, who had parked his large body in a patch of sun streaming through the hallway windows, turned his head around, questioning.

Edmund nodded. "Jalur, if you could continue your post in the hall?"

"Gladly," the Tiger mumbled through a yawn and lowered his head again. No one would dare disturb the dozing Tiger.

Lucy closed the door behind her. Edmund brought his chair back to his desk and sat heavily. The Lone Islands Tax Code stared malevolently back at him.

"You are troubled, my King," Sallowpad said, settling himself on the desk.

"Yes," Edmund admitted.

"To address one concern, Harah did report that Lady Morgan did nothing more unusual at the Romp than give the Otters oranges and bathe."

Edmund was not going make any further queries about the bathing. Or whether a corset had been in evidence. He was _not_. _Really_. His imagination, thoroughly frustrated with this restraint, retaliated with the invention of some truly wild fantasies to compensate.

"My King?"

"I am distracted, Friend. But, glad to hear that amid these other concerns, there was nothing untoward."

He picked up the copper filament and twirled it between his fingers. It was a pretty thing, the way it caught and refracted light. Edmund wondered what a Crow saw. It must be a brilliant show.

"_If_ Lady Morgan is an enemy, I _would _worry," Sallowpad said, clicking his beak. "She cleverly managed those Otters. Half the Murder showed up to see the riot. If the Crows had respected her less, they would have tried to make off with her gown to unravel the silver thread in it."

"Sallowpad…"

"No worry, my King. One way or another, it would not have been permitted to happen."

His imagination envisioned Evil Banker Morgan, wet and in a nothing but a bath towel, and ran with the image straight into the larder where the clotted cream might be stored. Edmund did not even bother trying to chase it down.

"Lady Morgan is of Stanleh-Sterns-Linch-Meryll is she not? The Lone Islands bankers?"

Edmund blinked, more focused. "She is. You know of it?"

"I was on the Lone Islands for a time, during the Witch's reign. I remember the name from the docks in Narrowhaven."

The Raven stared at the volume of the Tax Code, lurking like a snapping turtle. "Her arrival here may bode ill, or well, for Narnia. We cannot say, though so far, nothing but her timing is suspicious."

Sallowbad pecked at the book, and scratched it lightly with his claw, both acts of minor violence cheering Edmund even if stirring the dust made his nose run. "That Code is your foe, King Edmund. It is not one you have faced before, if I may say."

"You may, Sallowpad. I appreciate your counsel."

That he then knew was the rub of it. This was _not_ a foe that had been vanquished before, the Queen with a wand, the Northern Giants, the hags and werewolves, the pirates, the princess with the too tight bodice, or the sweet-voiced scoundrel.

"Money," the King said to the Raven, "is a subtle business."

Sallowpad bobbed his head so vigorously in agreement Edmund wondered if the Raven had divined this answer already and merely had the wisdom to allow his young King to come to the same conclusion himself.

"It's Crow's business, your Majesty. That's my view. Leave the Giant at home; I will go with the Queen Lucy and Lady Morgan to the Telmar River. I will learn what I may of Lady Morgan, money, and what interest, if any, she has in Narnia."

"Thank you, Friend." Edmund handed the coppery strand to Sallowpad. "Will you take this Shiny?"

"No, my King," the Raven said, hopping from the desk to the window ledge. "I found that Shiny for you."

* * *

The Hell Bitch was Captain Call's mare from _Lonesome Dove_, by Larry McMurty. The Hell Bitch I knew was a bay mare who threw a member of the U.S. Olympic Team into a fence; her name, however, was Flora.

Thank you for the reviews, alerts, and such. In answer to a question raised by SophieFitz, this particular vision is set about 10 years or so after the fall of Jadis.

_Chapter 6 - The Foolish Faun to follow_


	6. Chapter 6 The Tale of the Foolish Faun

**By Royal Decree**

**Chapter 6: The Tale of the Foolish Faun**

"_We don't know when he will act. In his time, no doubt, not ours. In the meantime, he would like us to do what we can on our own." __Prince Caspian__, Ch. XIII._

* * *

Tiger, Raven and Hound waited outside the Tower Library of Cair Paravel. With them was Lady Morgan of the House of Linch, Narrowhaven, Lone Islands, she with the shiny hair and silver thread that only a Crow could see.

"Lady Morgan," said the Raven, "do you know The Tale of the Foolish Faun?"

"No, Chief," said she, "I do not."

"Then it is a Tale you should hear for to know The Tale of the Foolish Faun it is to understand something of Narnia."

To the Hound, the Raven said, "Lady, would you tell the Tale?"

The Hound Bitch began in her gentle, wise voice.

"Come now Gentle Beasts and Daughter of Eve that might you hear The Tale of the Foolish Faun. To my puppies I tell it, as I learned it from my Dam, as she from hers, back generation upon generation. The Tale of the Foolish Faun was told the day after Aslan sang Narnia into being, at the Court of good King Frank and Queen Helen. It is told every day, in cave, and nest, and den, and meadow, and pond, that we might remember and heed it. Good Beasts and Creatures of Narnia, when you hear the words, you shall stop and listen with your sensitive heart so that all may know The Tale of the Foolish Faun and its Lesson. So, harken to me now."

"It begins thus."

There was once a Faun who lived in a Cave near the Great River. It was a splendid Cave, with books, and furniture, and pictures, and a fine fireplace. The Faun was very happy. He had many friends and spent fine Summer evenings dancing in the Wood and playing his pipes.

This Faun was very good indeed. He faithfully worshipped Aslan, the Great Lion of Narnia. Every day, the Faun was mindful of and would perform most reverently his devotions to the Great Lion. He would pray to Aslan, help his neighbors in need, and was kind to strangers. He showed great respect for all Aslan's good Creation, and never cut the Wood save what the Tree gave, nor fouled the Water. The Faun loved as Aslan would wish of all his Sons and Daughters; and, in return, Aslan loved his Son, the Faun.

One day in Spring the rains began, such as had never been seen in many an age. It rained and rained. Snow from the mountains melted, combined with the rain, and lent great power and energy to the Great River. The River would not be contained and, as happens, swelled, and burst his banks.

The Faun saw this flood with great dismay. The waters rose very fast and he was trapped by his splendid Cave. Trusting Aslan, he climbed on top a rock outside his Cave and waited and prayed for Aslan to deliver him from the great flood.

A mighty Gryphon came flying down and said, "Friend Faun, let me pick you up in my talons so that I might fly you away. Surely if you stay here on the rock, you shall drown."

"Friend Gryphon," said the Faun, "I thank you. But, I trust the Great Lion. He shall deliver me from the flood."

So the Gryphon flew away. The rain continued to fall, the River continued to rise, and the Faun soon found the water lapping up the sides of the rock. A Giant came, fording through the water. Even for him, the River was up to his knees.

The Giant called down, "Friend Faun, let me lift you up and take you away from here. Surely if you stay here on the rock, you shall drown."

"Friend Giant," said the Faun, "I thank you. But, I trust the Great Lion. He shall deliver me from the flood."

So the Giant went away.

The Great River rose, higher still, and the Faun still on his rock, saw that his fine hooves were now under the water. A Dwarf came, rowing in a boat.

The Dwarf called, "Friend Faun, come, climb in my boat and we shall row away. Surely if you stay here on the rock, you shall drown."

"Friend Dwarf," said the Faun, "I thank you. But, I trust the Great Lion. He shall deliver me."

So the Dwarf rowed away.

The Great River rose and swallowed the Faun. The Faun died, and so came to Aslan's Own Country.

The Faun came before the Great Lion and said, "Aslan, I love you and follow you faithfully. Why did you not save me?"

"My Son," Aslan said, "I sent the Gryphon, the Giant, and the Boat."

"And so, you see, Gentle Beasts and Daughter of Eve. Aslan does watch over us and protect us, his Sons and Daughters all. We are his most beloved children."

The Hound Bitch dropped her voice lower so that all had to lean in to hear her wise words, "But, know this, Friends…"

Raven, Tiger and Hound all completed the Lesson together, "The Great Lion wishes us to do what we may to save ourselves so he may not have to do it himself."

"Now may you understand a secret of Narnia, Daughter of Eve," the Raven said. "The Great Lion watches over Narnia and his beloved children. We are blessed beyond measure and strive always to do his will. Yet, not by Aslan alone is Narnia is defended. All who come here would do well to heed that lesson."

* * *

There were voices. Edmund pried his eyes open. It was near full dark and he was in the Library. Again. Ouch. He pulled his face up from Subtitle C of the Lone Islands Tax Code. It had not been a very uncomfortable pillow and inhaling all that dust could not have been good either. Now the _Animalia and Botanica_, that was a fairly comfortable headrest. The _Annotated Compilation Of Laws and Governance_ was about the right height, too, if he was in the back third of it. Squinting in the darkness, he tried to determine if he had drooled on the Tax Code. If ever a book was deserving of such a fate, surely this one was.

Edmund had no difficulty navigating the Library in the dark. He was as likely to wake up here as in his own room.

Opening the door, the torchlight in the hall blinded him. He stood there, blinking owlishly, trying to focus. Large golden rug blocking the door. Jalur. Indeterminate green chair in the window seat. Evil Banker Morgan. Small black blob next to indeterminate green chair, Sallowpad. White, black, brown footstool, Jina.

This was quite the retinue following Evil Banker Morgan. Obviously, she had planned to sneak into the Library while he napped and do unspeakable things. Edmund pushed such unspeakable things aside as not relevant. His imagination forcefully pushed back and threw oranges at his head. _I'm not going anywhere_.

"Good evening, Friends, Lady Morgan."

The large golden rug slowly stood and stretched. "Good evening, King Edmund."

"Good evening, your Majesty," Jina said.

"Subtitle C?" Evil Banker Morgan asked from her seat at the window.

"Hmmm, yes, section 1575. Does it show much?" he asked, rubbing the side of his face.

"Subtitle B is the better pillow," she said. "It's not as thick and you get less of a line." Pause. "King Edmund."

"I had hoped to absorb some of it in my sleep."

"Absorption of the Tax Code never works," Morgan replied. "It leaks out too fast."

"So, why the meeting here in the hallway? Did I interrupt something?" Noticing the stack of ledgers Evil Banker Morgan had been working on earlier in the day piled next to her on the window seat, he added, "Or, were you waiting for me?"

Evil Banker Morgan looked very shifty and lowered her eyes. There were low growls from both Jina and Jalur. Even Sallowpad clicked his beak with annoyance and hopped up on top of the ledgers.

So, Evil Banker Morgan was up to something evil!

Edmund looked at Evil Banker Morgan. Jina looked at Evil Banker Morgan. Jalur growled again. Sallowpad ruffled his feathers and peered at Evil Banker Morgan.

Edmund put on his questioning, interested, but not too scowling face. _I'm waiting._

The silent, uncomfortable moments slid by.

The Raven was the one who lost his patience first. Sallowpad pecked Evil Banker Morgan's hand.

"Ouch!" she muttered, more irritated than hurt. "You didn't have to do that Chief."

"I shall again if you do not speak up to the King."

_Intriguing._

Jina nudged Evil Banker Morgan in the side with her nose. "You should, Lady Morgan."

_Ah ha! A confession?_

Jalur yawned, jaws fully extended, sharp teeth displayed to astonishing effect. "If you don't, I shall become involved, and you would not want that. There might be blood and screaming."

"Enough with the bullying, you Beasts!" Evil Banker Morgan griped.

Somehow, Edmund felt in the hour or two he had napped, a great deal had occurred among these four. "Move over, Sallowpad, if you would," and he pushed the ledgers to the side. He really wanted to peek at them. Just a bit. Well, maybe more than a bit. Sitting at the other end of the window seat, he was as far from Evil Banker Morgan as the space would allow, but still rather cozy. His imagination was enthralled; his intellect was pretty happy about the arrangement as well and for the moment, they seemed capable of peaceful coexistence.

"So, what's this all about?"

"Lady Morgan has been telling me of the Lone Islands," Sallowpad said. "You should hear of it."

Another long pause. Really, Evil Banker Morgan very easily demonstrated the principle of negotiation that if you do not say anything, the other party will try to fill the silence. It was strange to have the tactic turned on himself.

"Well," Edmund began, wanting to get this done before sunrise.

"I think you are making a huge mistake," Evil Banker Morgan blurted out.

Not the most respectful or tactful, way of expressing a view. Jalur grumbled, but did not correct her.

"As any of my Royal Siblings will tell you, I make them all the time. Can you be more specific?"

"The Code. Well, it's not just the Code, it's lot of things. But, you can't just go in and change it like you think you can. You can't begin to understand it, especially in a week."

There was that word "can't" again. Edmund was coming to dislike it heartily and knew this scowl reflected it.

"Lady Morgan," Jina said with a glance at him. "Do not stress yourself so. Speak plainly as you did with Sallowpad."

"Begin with why it is as it is," Sallowpad said.

Morgan spoke quickly. "It started over a hundred years ago in the Lone Islands as a way to protest the Witch. They did things to make Narnia more isolated and poorer, usually economic. They made it hard and expensive to sell things in Narnia, like food; anything made in Narnia was hard to sell anywhere else, like Dwarf made weapons."

"Now, explain about the Code," Sallowpad prompted, again.

She took a breath and prattled on. "The whole point of a lot of the Subtitle C you were sleeping on is to make it very difficult for anyone to have anything to do with Narnia. Some of it's subtle, some of it's obvious, but it's all deliberate and it's been that way for a very long time."

"But the Witch is gone," Edmund countered.

Sallowpad tutted. "But the Code has remained, and changing what lies behind it will not come easy."

"Friend, Narnia cannot permit her poor to continue to suffer as they are. It is unfair, and needs changing."

"Of course it should be changed," Morgan retorted. "But don't be stupid about it, because if you go blundering in not knowing what you are about, Narnia could have a very bad situation in the Lone Islands."

Jalur growled again. This time, Edmund waved him down. "Enough, Jalur. Lady Morgan is not speaking personally."

"There are other problems besides unfairness to the poor," Sallowpad said, continuing his thought. "Some, maybe many, in the Lone Islands, depend on injury to Narnia to survive."

So, a whole way of life and trade economy had developed over a hundred years or more with a decidedly anti-Narnian bias. It was very unsettling to contemplate, daunting to consider remedying.

Yet, with this context, he now understood what he had been trying to divine. "Sallowpad, it is not simply that Narnia is disfavored. Everything in the Code tilts heavily in favor of Calormen."

"These little barbarian countries that call themselves free are hateful to the gods. Every morning the sun is darkened in my eyes because Narnia is still free."

Jalur and Jina both growled. For Edmund, it was deeply disturbing to hear the slow, melodic intonation and hateful words come from Lady Morgan.

"You imitate him well," Sallowpad said eventually into the shocked silence that followed.

She shrugged a little. "I wasn't sure if you would recognize the reference. You'd better hope he lives forever, because the sons who might come after are even worse."

"That's enough on that subject," Edmund said curtly. Their intelligence on Calormen was not something to be discussed casually, or at all.

Morgan was twisting a handkerchief in her hands fit to tear it. Even he could see she was nervous. He would have to ask Jina and Jalur later what else they sensed. Realistically, what she had told them was not especially remarkable; it was not secret, it was all in the Code if someone had the wits and time to understand it. She had, however, saved them a great deal of effort and provided some important historical context. This, however, led to other concerns.

"So, answer this question for me then, Lady Morgan."

She looked up.

"Why are you saving me weeks deciphering the Code and warning us of the hazards of, as you say, doing something stupid? Why tell us these things, because I have difficulty believing it is altruism."

"There is _some_ altruism," she countered.

"And what else?"

She hesitated; Jina and Jalur were both looking intently at her. Edmund had not fully appreciated just how difficult it might be to lie when you had a Tiger and an extremely sensitive Hound staring you down. She took a deep breath then said in the same blurting fashion, "The House of Linch has taken a position that favors Narnia. We could be hurt if you do anything stupid, like trying to change the Code without knowing what you are doing."

Morgan really could do with a bit more tact; the way she spoke was very reminiscent of a Crow. As to the substance, Edmund looked to Sallowpad. Taken a position? What did that mean? From the context, it sounded more substantive than some sort of rhetorical support.

Evidently the Raven understood what she meant, because he asked an even more peculiar question, "Are you also hedging that position?" the Raven asked.

"Yes, some, but we profit much more if Narnia succeeds."

_So, a financial position. If Narnia succeeds, however that might be measured, her House does as well. _

"What of the other Houses within Stanleh-Sterns-Linch-Meryll?" Sallowpad asked. "What positions do they take?"

"I don't know. I suspect more have positions favoring Calormen."

"Could you explain this please?" Edmund asked.

"Well..." Morgan began.

Sallowpad interrupted with a squawk. "This is subtle business, my King, not for here and now. The short answer is that the House of Linch wagers that Narnia wins, like a beetle in a race. To reduce loss, it also wagers that the same beetle might lose, but the House earns more if the beetle wins. This is called hedging. Nothing wrong with it; it can be sound. Others though bet that Calormen wins, and of greater concern, likely win more if that gain is at Narnia's expense."

Explained thus, Edmund immediately saw what was concerning the Raven. The problem with betting that a beetle will lose is that gives an incentive to harm the beetle.

The Raven Chief was also correct that this was not the time to discuss the issue further.

"Thank you, Sallowpad. And thank you, Lady Morgan. Narnia is in your debt. If you will, may we discuss this further after your return from the Telmar?"

Evil Banker Morgan looked quite flustered at this praise as she slowly nodded. Flustered was a very becoming look on her. Edmund's imagination wanted to fluster her some more, and regrettably it seemed his reason was becoming rather more sanguine about the idea as well. _Right then. _

"So, everyone looking forward to going Narnian tonight? Jalur, I know you must be especially pleased at the thought of another party." Edmund could not help teasing the solitary Tiger about social events.

Jalur curled his lip, exposing a long fang. "Are you looking forward to apologizing to Princess Even More Dim as the Queen Susan asked?"

Evil Banker Morgan snickered.

"In my dreams, I've already apologized, Jalur. I'm sure that will count." His dreams had not in fact been anything of the sort. They had most certainly featured a gown of indeterminate green hanging from his dresser mirror and clotted cream where a corset would have been.

"Should you wish to make that case to the Queen Susan, I would like to hear of it," Jalur replied.

"It is about time, I should think," Edmund said, getting up from his intimate nook with the Evil Banker, which also included a Hound, a Tiger, and a Raven. _How very Narnian. _"Shall we all go?" He did not intend it as a question and was actually going to do something really gallant, like offer an arm, but blast it all, everyone had gone all shifty again.

_Now what?_

He spoke that aloud, and knew he was impatience was showing.

"Your pardon, King Edmund," Jina said, "But, the reason we were all here in the first instance was because Lady Morgan said she wanted to work. She and I should be attending upon the Queens, and I suspect Lady Morgan thinks she can miss the Occasion entirely if she stays in the Library long enough."

He started to say, "You can't do that!" but had learned better at this point about the hazards of that "can't" word.

"Oh," Edmund said, instead. He wondered about trying that High King charm tactic his brother did so well, but thought that for him the effect would be rather alarming and lead to fainting of an altogether different, more undesirable sort. He would try clever persuasion instead. He was better at that. "You do know we are going Narnian, which means no shoes. I have it on good authority there will not be napkins either, but don't tell the Queen Susan that, as she will suspect my involvement. Although truly, on the matter of napkins, I bear no fault whatsoever."

Evil Banker Morgan continued to wring the handkerchief in her fingers. "I see."

"There probably will not be much food at all."

"Thank you, King Edmund, for reminding us of that aspect of this," Jina said, with something like an embarrassing whine.

"It is fine, Lady Hound. No apologies for that fine boy of yours. But, this does mean, Lady Morgan, that one must fill up a plate before the Dwarfs go through."

"I'm not that hungry," Evil Banker Morgan murmured, still staring downward.

"Thirsty, then. There _will_ be plenty of wine."

"I usually drink ale."

"Twenty Red Dwarfs?" Sallowpad croaked. "There will be more ale than wine."

Trying a different stratagem, Edmund said, "Speaking of, my Good Raven, what are the odds on Fauns versus Dwarfs?"

Evil Banker Morgan looked up. _Ah ha!_ _Numbers_.

"Six to one the Dwarfs outlast the Fauns, your Majesty."

To Evil Banker Morgan, Edmund said, "The Crows will wager on which musicians last longer. Well, not exclusively on the musicians' stamina, of course. Crows will bet on anything. From experience though, I'd not bet against the Fauns."

"Not at those odds," Sallowpad agreed.

"Well…" Evil Banker Morgan seemed more interested in the wagering. "Simply put, the House of Linch does not have many parties, or occasions."

"How very fortunate for you," Jalur muttered. "I may seek a transfer."

"What instead?" Jina asked.

"Meetings," Evil Banker Morgan said.

"Meetings?" every voice in the hallway echoed.

"Or then again, perhaps not," Jalur added.

Edmund's imagination stomped its feet and whined. It wanted to dance with Evil Banker Morgan, grope about for a corset, and confirm that thigh circumference measure as well. It did not want to attend a meeting. His intellect, on the other hand, enjoyed a broader viewpoint and did not necessarily consider these things as mutually exclusive. It was looking forward to many _very_ _long, very private_ discussions with Evil Banker Morgan about the Lone Islands Tax Code once she returned from the Telmar.

"Seminars, too," Evil Banker Morgan said. "Roundtables. Presentations." We do drink, quite a lot sometimes."

"Surely," Jina said slowly, feeling her way through something very unfamiliar to a Narnian Hound, "you must have some other activities? Dancing?"

Evil Banker Morgan blanched. "Bankers don't dance. Ever. I'm a dreadful dancer."

Edmund's imagination whined and pouted.

"Is there any entertainment, though?" Jina asked.

"Cards, puzzles, games of chance, that sort of thing."

_Crow-like _indeed. "Well then," Edmund told her, "if you will, Sallowpad would certainly escort you to the Beetle Races of the Narnian Murder."

The Raven hopped excitedly. "Excellent idea, my King!"

"Beetle races? I thought you were speaking metaphorically before."

"Oh no. The Crows collect beetles from the compost pile and midden. They put them in a circle on the ground and the first beetle out of the circle wins the race."

"And they bet on the races?" Evil Banker Morgan did look very excited about this. For a banker, at least. "What do they wager?"

"Shinys!" Sallowpad squawked. "Pretties!"

"Oh." Evil Banker Morgan looked quite deflated. "I don't have anything like the Princess' Pretties, Chief."

Edmund did not want to know how it was that Evil Banker Morgan knew of the thefts. The Crows, he suspected.

"You do!" the Raven said. "Any Crow would take a bet on your hair, Lady Morgan. Or the shiny thread in your gown!"

"But, Chief, I can't even see the thread or hairs Harah said were shiny!"

"Tut!" Sallowpad hopped from the ledgers to her shoulder. "May I?" the Raven asked.

"If it means I can bet in beetle races, absolutely, Good Raven."

Sallowpad picked through Evil Banker Morgan's brown hair and emerged with several strands in his beak.

Edmund did not look at her ear. His imagination did. It was a whole other part of her anatomy to fixate upon.

With a quick jerk, Sallowpad pulled her hair out. She winced, but didn't cry out. The Raven hopped from her shoulder to the window seat and placed the hairs in Evil Banker Morgan's palm.

"Now the thread," Evil Banker Morgan urged. "From the hem, I think." The Raven flapped down, carefully inspected the bottom of the gown of indeterminate green then struck, as a robin seeking a worm. Planting his feet carefully, Sallowpad pulled a long, silvery thread out from the fabric. Evil Banker Morgan carefully spooled it in her fingers.

"Thank you! Chief, can you find another?"

"Gladly, Lady Morgan."

Edmund looked over at Jina. The Hound had her eyebrows scrunched up. She was working very hard to understand this very strange behavior involving the unraveling of a lady's gown. But then, as Edmund had been saying all day, Morgan of the House of Linch was an Evil Banker and Not A Lady.

The Raven repeated this three more times, deftly removing the thread, before he called a stop. "That is enough, I think, Lady Morgan. You should have plenty for initial wagers."

The Hound pushed her nose into Evil Banker Morgan's hand. "Lady Morgan, if I may remind you, my Queens _are_ expecting you and me, and in advance of the Occasion."

"Thank you, Jina, for being patient with me. I don't want to make you late." Evil Banker Morgan slid off her window seat.

It was worth another try. "Lady Morgan, you may leave those books in the Library, if you wish."

She was, however, already gathering them up. "No thank you." She remembered, "King Edmund."

"Sallowpad, would you please guide Lady Morgan to My Sisters? I need to speak briefly to Jina."

Evil Banker Morgan offered her shoulder to the Raven who climbed aboard. Juggling books and Bird, she trundled off.

Edmund gestured Jina into the Library for privacy and Jalur resumed his position at the door.

"I won't keep you, Lady Hound. I did want to thank you for your assistance. Will you be able to travel with Queen Lucy?" Jina still looked uncomfortable, so soon after whelping.

"I should think so, King Edmund. Thank you for asking. As I mentioned this morning, the puppies are ready to be weaned, so now is as good a time as any to leave. I have spoken to the physician already and need to take some measures, but nothing that would interfere with my duties."

"And so far, your observations, of Lady Morgan?"

"She managed the Otters and the Crows admire her. She is at ease with me and she and Sallowpad are getting on well. She has an odd manner that can annoy, such as just now with this Lone Islands business. Yet, she told Sallowpad the same thing with no difficulty. I have sensed nothing indicating she means harm to Narnia. I will know more after tonight, I'm sure, and will give you and Queen Susan a fuller report."

Jina was speaking more quickly than was usual and twitching with impatience. She was keen to be off and continue her work. That diligence was a Hound quality, and he did a disservice in keeping her.

"One last thing. I did not see Teddy the Rat Buck just now, which I am glad of. He would be a very hungry, tired Rat."

"Queen Susan sent him back to the Mischief for two days rest once I started."

"Excellent, thank you. That is all. I will see you later."

"Oh yes. Thank you, King Edmund. "

Jina trotted out the door, but not before there was some sort of rushed, whispered conference with Jalur. Edmund always wondered about these. He and his siblings had their private conversations about their Subjects; or at least he assumed they were private. It was reasonable to assume that their Staff, Guards, and personal retinue all had their own personal observations and did not, necessarily, share all with their Monarchs. Still, he did wonder, sometimes, who was really running things.

* * *

The Tale Of The Foolish Faun is, of course, a variation on an old joke.

If you are not following the bigger Spare Oom companion to this, _The Stone Gryphon_, the last two chapters that went up, Cross Pollination Parts 2 and 3, include many of the Beasts from _By Royal Decree_, including Lady Willa, She-Wolf Briony, He-Wolf Lambert, Sallowpad, Chief of the Murder, Ibiza the Hound, the promiscuous Songbirds, and the Otters.

_Chapter 7: Parts 1 and 2 – Offer, Acceptance, Consideration to follow  
The very Narnian Occasion and a traitor is revealed._


	7. Ch7 Offer, Acceptance, Consideration Pt1

_**By Royal Decree**_

_**Chapter 7 – Offer, Acceptance, Consideration  
Part 1**_

_The very Narnian Occasion and a traitor is revealed._

_There are three factors necessary to create a contract: 1) an offer made, 2) an acceptance of the offer, and 3) consideration exchanged between the parties. Consideration has to be something of value. These factors must be present for a contract to be enforceable. Excerpted from The New Office Professional's Handbook (4th ed.)._

* * *

"Perhaps we could both just fib to Susan?" Edmund asked his Guard as they made their way from the Library tower.

"You may do as you see fit, King Edmund. As will I."

"That is not helpful to me, Jalur."

"No," the Tiger agreed, "it is not."

"And my dreaming the apology does not count either?"

"Even if it was, _did_ you dream an apology?"

_Stupid, perceptive Guard._

They went by Edmund's rooms, then toward the stairs. "If I may, my King?" he asked.

"Please."

"As I mentioned here this morning, time in your company and among the Rats and Crows has left its mark upon me."

"I am sorry about that, Friend." Edmund knew this comparison was likely troubling the Tiger.

"My point is, you will use the Rats and Crows to spread word you wish to circulate. Could not Princess Even More Dim do the same?"

"Yes," Edmund said slowly, "she might…"

Before he could fully consider the potential applications, they caught up with Susan and Peter on the stairway. He came up behind Susan for a quick hug. "It is always good to see you in one piece after a ride on the Hell Bitch."

She returned the hug with warmth and a half-hearted frown. "Yet, even you concede she _is_ an excellent judge of character." Susan looped her arms between his and Peter's and together the three of them headed downstairs.

"Lambert, you seem to have all your limbs accounted for," Edmund said to the Wolf.

"I am indeed fortunate, King Edmund."

"Did Lady Morgan and Jina find you and Lucy?"

"Yes. All is very well."

He cast his sister a sideways look, for the turn of phrase was odd, but Susan continued speaking, lowering her voice. "I was telling Peter what Sallowpad has learned from Lady Morgan."

"I admit to not understanding it in full," Peter said.

"None of us do, as yet, Peter. It is a new affair for us, and we will need Sallowpad for it," Edmund told his brother.

"And the Lady herself, if she may be so prevailed upon," Susan added even more quietly. "Edmund and I shall speak to you more of it when you return, Peter; it is complex and we should not act precipitously."

Peter looked to him, and Edmund gave a confirming nod. "Nor do we need to; nothing has changed nor is likely to in the near term, save our better understanding of it."

Taking the hint that this was as far as the matter should be discussed so publicly, Peter nodded. "So, it was the promise of beetle racing that persuaded Lady Morgan out of the Library?" Peter was too well mannered to show the incredulity he undoubtedly felt.

"She has stated in no uncertain terms that Bankers Do Not Dance," Edmund said. "'Dreadful' is the word she used."

"That is too bad," Peter said with more feeling than Edmund might have wished. _Surely, she is_ _wearing a corset. She must be allergic to pollen __and__ dairy products._

"Our other guests, however, do enjoy dancing," Susan injected pointedly. "And I am certain that the two of you will be the obliging hosts, yes?"

It might have been dictatorial, but her statement was accompanied by a well concealed and very heartfelt sigh that was very near a plea. This ordeal had been difficult for Susan as well. He squeezed her arm. "Of course, Sister."

"And…" Susan began.

"Not yet," Edmund interrupted. "But I shall. Jalur has been more nag than Tiger today."

"You have my sincere thanks, Jalur, for persisting in so very onerous a duty," she called over her shoulder.

"You are welcome, Queen Susan."

"Edmund?"

"Susan?"

"Repeat after me," she whispered. "Be. Gon. Ia. Begonia. Pe. On. Y. Peony. I thought you might be in need of a refresher."

"Not…"

"Ladies!" Peter called out, spying the Princesses emerging from the Guest Quarter wing. "Splendid! We were just coming to escort you!"

_We were? Oh hang it. Ambushed again._

Still, ten years in Narnia, and Edmund could do this nearly as well as Peter and Susan, when he chose to do so. It was one evening, it was the Princesses' last night, and really, he had no excuse.

"Princess Peony, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to dinner, as informal as it may be?"

She rose from a very nicely executed curtsey. When not squeezed too tightly into her gown, and able to breathe properly, she was quite pretty, in a vapid sort of way.

"You may, King Edmund, thank you."

Peter was wrangling Princess Begonia – Edmund wanted to say, "See, Susan, I can remember names!" but he was trying to be on his better behavior.

Taking his hand with practiced ease, Peony commented, "I trust I meet with your approval this evening?"

She was entitled to that. "Very much so. Thank you for that courtesy. I think you will be glad of the change, as well."

"Oh?"

"We are all very fond of dancing, and with dueling musicians, it will be vigorous, and not an Occasion to miss or to sit out for lack of breath."

"I look forward to it."

It was quite the crush around the table in the dining room; Mrs. Furner had been holding the Dwarfs back until the Monarchs and their guests had been around the table at least once. She was scolding two burly fellows who must have been her sons. "Make sure they do the clean up," Edmund whispered in her ear.

He was very glad to see Mr. Hoberry nowhere in sight and hoped the Faun was tuning his pipes instead.

The table was plentiful if, as Susan would say, a bit rustic; Narnia's bounty displayed as naturally as She herself. If he had cared, the food also probably was not especially well matched – the early Spring garden (washed, but otherwise still on the stem) meeting last winter's apples and cured foods. True to Susan's word, there were no potatoes at all, nor indeed any sign of any cooking, although Edmund did spot Cook sitting in a corner with a bottle of wine all to herself. He left her to the well-earned, and puppy-free, peace.

He managed to juggle the Princess, his own plate and cup and Peony's (very full) cup out the palace front doors to the landing. A few torches lit the steps going down to the darkened lawn. Someone had started a bonfire in the fire pit, illuminating the space about it with a cheerful glow.

Surveying the site of the Occasion, he asked her, "Do you mind if we eat up here on the steps?"

"If it please you." She looked a little uncomfortable, settling herself on the step, but it wasn't as if there were any chairs on the lawn.

"It is the Trees, you see," Edmund explained, handing the Princess her cup. He sat a step below and gestured toward the lawn.

She followed his motion, staring at the Trees' tall profiles by the fire. "What are they doing?"

"They are feeding the bonfire. We use no living Wood, save what the Trees give. The Trees break off bits of bark and twigs to make the fire. Judging from the size and shape, it looks to be some very mature Oak, Elm, and Birch working on the bonfire. It would be better for me to not go down there until they and their pollen move on."

"I understand you suffer allergies as well?" Peony looked uncertain, thought it was unclear whether it was the Trees or eating with her fingers.

"Quite." He wondered if he could use that as the excuse in his apology. But a glance at Jalur, silent and scowling, said otherwise. The Cat would surely Rat him out.

"If I may be blunt?" Peony paused, leaving Edmund to wonder if the topic of Tree reproduction was what was disconcerting her. He did not see how one could delicately ignore it when you were breathing it in. It was generally better not to dwell on it at length.

"Of course."

"You might wish to try inhaling a mild salt water rinse through the nose to wash away the pollen. Our physician recommends it highly."

"Really?" What an extraordinary remedy. "That would not have occurred to me." Jalur's huff was enigmatic. Disgust? Impatience that Edmund was discussing allergy relief instead of making the apology expected? What did it say that he would rather discuss inhaling salt water than make his amends to Even More Dim?

"I thank you for that good advice."

"You are welcome, Sire."

Edmund managed not to wince. He really hated that particular title. When one's subjects were Good Beasts, but Beasts nonetheless, use of the term "sire" always struck him as impolite and impolitic.

From the other side of the bonfire, pipe music began, followed by complementary, but also competing, drum.

Peony looked up from her plate of peas, strawberries, and slightly stale bread. "Are those your musicians?"

"Yes," Edmund pointed. "The Fauns and Dwarfs set up just on the other side of the bonfire. There is a nice, flat expanse of lawn there. That is where the dancing will be."

He gestured to another corner, where the Wood met the lawn. Two torches burned and he could just make out black shapes flitting about in the eaves of the trees and a cluster of them on the ground hopping up and down. If they had started racing, it would be much noisier. "The Crows are over there." _In the company of one dreadfully dancing, Not a Lady, Evil Banker with a bit less shiny hair and fewer pretty unseen threads in her gown of indeterminate green._

"And what do Narnian Crows do at a party?"

"They race beetles and gamble."

He could tell from her expression that Peony was not quite sure whether to believe him.

"Princess Peony?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"I wish to apologize, for the method by which I expressed my displeasure today. I should have spoken more plainly as to my objections, and I regret that."

She stirred the radishes on her plate and took a sip of the sweet pink wine she had wanted. Edmund loathed that particular grape varietal; it was however always very popular with visiting Princesses.

"So, an apology for ruining the gown, but not for the sentiment behind it?"

"Yes."

"I thank you for the apology. And I do apologize myself. Such things are quite commonplace in other Courts and I misjudged." She took another sip of her wine. "In other places, the reaction would have been, in fact, has been, rather different."

Edmund knew that well enough. These things happened because they frequently worked, though it was to no credit of anyone involved. He did not like the way it resembled a marketplace, even when he had been the beneficiary of it. With Susan, this would be an interesting discussion. With Princess Even More Dim, it was an attempt to assess where her plan had gone awry. He would decline this opportunity to enlighten her.

"I thank you in return, Princess. Turning to more pleasant matters, are you looking forward to Archenland?"

Jalur, who Edmund knew, had been carefully memorizing every word spoken, swung his head around. "Queen Lucy, Lady Morgan, Briony, Sallowpad, and Jina come."

The women came out of the Palace balancing their own plates and drinks, Jina and Briony trotting next to them. Sallowpad was still perched on Evil Banker Morgan's shoulder. Lucy looked more cheerful than she had in days.

For his convenience, Edmund would have very much wanted them to join him and Princess Peony; however, he suspected he was the only one of the seven who would welcome the invitation. He settled for friendly, reciprocated waves and nods.

The Princess watched them as they continued down the steps. "May I ask you a question, Sire?"

"You may ask; whether I answer rather depends on the question."

She nodded. "My sister and I have noted that although we have been here some weeks, it is the Lady Morgan who has been here only days who is accompanying the Queen Lucy on her planned journey. Why is that?"

"You _are_ departing tomorrow." _Thank Aslan for it. _"For deeper understanding of what I believe is the real intent of your question, I refer you to Her Grace, My Sister. It is her decision."

"So, your Sisters do hold authority in their own right, equal to your own? And you equal to the High King?"

"Of course."

"That is very unusual."

"That is Aslan's Will, Princess. There are four thrones, all equal on the Cair Paravel dais, though the High King holds authority over all Kings and Queens, who came before and who shall come after."

She blew out a little breath of mental effort. "My sister and I have greatly enjoyed the hospitality of your house, Sire. Narnia is very beautiful." She stole a glance toward Jalur, and then a group of Dwarfs who came clomping down the stairs. Edmund saluted their bows with a cheery wave.

"Thank you, Princess. It has been Our pleasure to host you both. However, it does sound as though there is a qualifier to your praise."

She laughed, a nervous, trilling sound. "You are as perceptive as your reputation, Sire. I regret to not have come to know you better during my stay."

This sort of flirtation was very tiresome. Edmund had no regrets at all, other than that she was not already gone. His mind could spin out the usual polite though double-edged responses with barely an effort. "We would indeed be churlish to keep you and your sister to Ourselves, Princess."

Edmund thought he might have heard a low, rumbling growl from Jalur. If so, the Tiger must truly dislike her, or was very grumpy about the Occasion. He usually had his temper under better regulation.

Sipping her wine, she finally said, "I admit to confusion, Sire. What is it to capture the heart of a Narnian? Because a month here, and I am none the wiser, nor my good sister. It is plain what does not work. But what does?"

_As if I would tell you that!_ Although, Edmund had to concede, even if he _would_ have answered, he was not quite sure _how_ he might have answered. _I'll know it when I see it?_ At this particular point in time, he was well qualified to offer opinions on a theoretical love of clotted cream and the absence of corsets, and where that might lead one in pursuit of the greater mysteries in the extremely pleasurable company of a woman. Yet, such preoccupations had very little to do with the love of which the Princess spoke.

"It is simple, Princess."

Jalur's voice broke in, startling her.

"Yes?" Her voice quavered as she asked. It was strange to see how nervous and unaccustomed she still was to a Good Beast, even after a month. She could be here years, Edmund realized. And still, she would be fearful.

"He or she must feel as we do," the Tiger said. "Love Aslan first; Love Narnia, second. The rest may follow, but without those first and second, there can be nothing."

Edmund stared at the Tiger in amazement, deeply moved. He reached over and placed a hand on the huge, domed head. "Thank you, Friend, for that beautiful insight."

Jalur bowed his own head, accepting the blessing and thanks of his beloved King.

Reluctantly pulling his attention back to the Princess, Edmund saw that she had been carefully watching his own interaction with Jalur. He wondered what it looked like to her. Did she see the regard and love between Friends and Soldiers, between Subject and King? Or did she just see a man with a big pet?

"I see," she said after a time, even though she could not possibly understand.

"Princess Peony, I would ask, if you will, that as you discuss with others your stay with Us, please also share the Tiger's profound observation. It might prevent the development in others of unreasonable expectations and unrequited hopes."

"Certainly, Sire."

Gossip came easily to Princesses. Perhaps her spreading of this particular truth might spare them all some ordeals in the future.

"And I see that your cup is near empty. We cannot have that. Let us address that want, and then see how dancing without slippers agrees with you."

As it turned out, Even More Dim and her sister were delightful dance partners. He and Peter more than did their duty here, and really, it was no chore at all. Susan had nothing to complain of in their role as hosts, except that perhaps, she and Lucy were dancing more than their share with the Fauns. Yet, his sisters loved that as well, and the whole of it was agreeable to everyone. The music was lively, the pace was quick, and it was thirsty work.

Edmund knew that Even More Dim was being very attentive to him, trying to achieve in a night what had failed to take hold in a month. In truth, he did not mind reciprocating once the dancing started. She felt very nice in the crock of his arm, she was light on her feet, did not step on his, and laughed at all of his humors. Her flowery scent did make his eyes water a bit. After many dances and a fair bit of wine, she had coyly but quite deliberately led him off into a dark corner of the Wood ringing the bonfire. Still, he had gone more than willingly and it was, unexpectedly, very pleasant. She molded nicely against him, all eager and pliant. The kissing promised even better things if he was so willing, and she certainly knew what she was about. She was contrastingly soft and firm in all the right places, a fact he was encouraged to explore and she was most definitely not wearing a corset. But, then she'd open her mouth and it was not for kissing, but to say something stupid or manipulative, and it all brought back the fact that somewhere there was an interfering busybody saying, "Now girl, leave the High King for your sister; you concentrate on that younger brother;. He's the smart, broody one, and he'll like your type just fine."

His imagination was thoroughly irritated with him, but Edmund's intellect knew how to corral the unruly miscreant in these _annoyingly_ _familiar _circumstances. She was not worth it and the original assessment had been the correct one. He was not going to play the cad, both because it was just bad manners on his part, and because that had undoubtedly been the intent all along of her own dimly thought out scheme; a scheme that he was determined to thwart. Also, he knew that Jalur was out there in the darkness, paying attention as a Guard was supposed to do, and mocking him for the hypocrisy.

So, before things progressed very far, he brought her back out to the bonfire. She was a little petulant, but he got her some wine, paid her some pretty and insincere compliments, and made sure her glass stayed full in between the next rondos, reels and jigs. When she was almost ready to move from tipsy to sloppy, Edmund escorted Even More Dim back to his sisters and the accompanying dryads. Peter had made the same decision; Princess Dim was with them, in a similar state, eyes wide, chattering incessantly, leaning against a Tree trunk, and sloshing her wine glass. Lucy was looking murderous.

To the Princesses, Edmund said all the proper flowery good byes that made Lucy's eyes roll and Susan bite her lip. If the Princesses were going to travel tomorrow, they could not be drunk out of their minds now. He wanted her gone, did not want to see their departure delayed, and sending a hungover Princess into the company of twenty Red Dwarfs was not something he was going to do to them or to the woman, even if he did not like her very much. If it had just been Peter, it might have been a good joke, but even then not if it meant delaying Dim and Even More Dim's departure by a single hour.

Peter found him by the dishwashing tubs. Edmund had been helping Mrs. Furner and Mr. Hoberry with some of the plates; Peter chased the Faun and Dwarfess away to get something to drink and to stop with the working.

The High King grabbed a towel for the drying; Edmund continued with the washing.

"Susan and Lucy sent me over," Peter explained. "If they were going to put the Princesses to bed, helping you with dishes was, I was instructed, the least I could do."

"I'm not even going to make a comment about that, other than to say, that I am very glad that our Royal Guests will have an uneventful night, and be ready for an early start tomorrow."

Peter took the plate from him, and nodded. From behind the plate, he muttered, "I think Lucy is the most pleased of all of us."

Edmund nodded. "I was glad we were not using cutlery, fond as she is of throwing knives. She bend your ear on the subject as well?"

"Both of them." Pitching his voice lower still, Peter murmured, "I admit, I will be relieved to see them on their way to Archenland."

It was a rare moment of candor; Peter seldom conceded the tedium of this business that he and Susan bore the brunt of.

Edmund shoved another plate at him. "Peter, it is a wonderful night, our sisters will return shortly with no one else in their wake, there is plenty of wine, we are not wearing shoes, and we have both enjoyed, however fleeting, the benefits of a corset-free dance Narnia. Let's just forget about the onerous duty of assuring our Legacy for the rest of the evening, shall we?"

"Well said, Ed."

They heard very raucous shouts and caws from the race ring; evidently a close race and from the noise, it sounded as if some of the Dwarfs had joined the wagering as well. Edmund shook his head with a rueful grin. _Definitely An Evil Banker And Not A Lady._

"Speaking of," Peter said, with a glance in the direction of the noisy Murder, "I did manage to pry Lady Morgan away for one pass on the lawn. The Crows did not want to let her go."

"Perhaps the Evil Banker is making off with their Shinys," Edmund said, dunking a cup, and really wishing he was not going to hear whatever it was that Peter was going to say. So far that evening, it had been out of sight, out of mind, and Edmund had been more at ease about her than he had been all day.

"I thought we should both take a turn with her for courtesy' sake, but I believe you were otherwise occupied."

"I have no idea to what you are referring, High King of the Romp."

Peter cuffed him on the side of the head with a tin plate." Edmund splashed soap water back at him.

"You were right, though. She really _is _dreadful, and it was relief to all I think when two Crows appeared and demanded her return. I suggested she ask Lucy to teach her some steps while they are on the Telmar."

"That was well thought of, Peter." _I wish I had thought of it first._

"And I do not know what you were about regarding her legs. _Very_ nice figure, for all that she cannot dance a step."

_I am not going to ask him about the absence of a corset. Am not._

Edmund tried for airy and disinterested, and handed Peter a mug, really wishing he could just break the pottery over his brother's thick head. Whatever hard won composure he had found was now scattering in the breeze like the pollen. "She provided the number in formulae. I must have miscalculated."

Peter laughed. "If you have made so grievous an error, Brother, I shall be truly disappointed in you." Before Edmund could even deliver his own Scowl, Peter threaded up the dish towel and flicked it like a whip. Edmund was too fast for that game and caught it before it could snap. In this tug of war however, it was the poor abused towel who was the loser.

The justice was that Peter had to complete the drying with a shredded towel. Task done, Peter wandered off to plot his journey with the Dwarf Chieftain. Edmund found a cup (he thought it was his), emptied the last of a bottle into it, and settled back on the grass. The musicians were taking a break; they would start again when Susan and Lucy returned. Notable now suddenly for its absence, the lack of caws indicated the Races had also halted for the moment. An old oak Dryad strode in from outside the circle of light and began peeling off bits of his fingers to feed the bonfire. Edmund's nose itched just seeing him. He sneezed.

He heard a sneeze behind him.

"Good evening, Lady Morgan," Jalur said from the darkness.

Tilting his head back, he saw Evil Banker Morgan emerge.

The oak Dryad, fortunately moved on.

"You seem to have lost your retinue," Edmund said, noting the absence of Hound and Raven.

"Jina went in with Queen Susan and Lucy for the moment; I expect the three of them will be back out shortly."

Edmund was trying to determine why that particular choice of words was alarming him. That Evil Banker Morgan was now referring to Lucy without her title? That it bespoke some familiarity with Lucy and Susan of which he had been unaware? Although, come to think of it, she and Jina had been off to see the Queens earlier. As he considered it, the thought of his two sisters and an Evil Banker together in a room without adult supervision was unsettling.

Jina would keep them out of trouble. Surely.

"And Sallowpad?"

"Chief is overseeing the set up for the next heat."

"The Crows start to eat the racers?"

She laughed. "He's watching my beetle so they don't. When the caws start up, I'll go back."

"Sit," Edmund said, belatedly. More politely, he added, "If you will."

Evil Banker Morgan came in closer toward the bonfire, and settled on the grass, spilling only a little of her ale.

"So you are betting your sleeves as well?" he asked, seeing the loose threads.

She pulled her hair up with one hand. "And more hair."

"Have you already lost your initial threads and hairs?"

Evil Banker Morgan bristled at the accusation. "Of course not; I've been trading."

"Forgive me," Edmund said with a small tilt of his head and a raised glass. "I really should have known better than to suggest otherwise."

Her curt nod implied, _And don't you forget it._

Stretching her legs out in front of her, Evil Banker Morgan tried to arrange the gown so it did not hitch up. She wriggled her bare feet. "Never been to a meeting without shoes." Pause. "King Edmund."

Thwarted in its efforts with Even More Dim, his imagination now happily contemplated this image of her lower legs and feet; his reason tried to muscle its way back in, but his imagination tossed out a recalculation of circle circumference to keep it occupied.

"We do the pomp and ceremony well enough too," he managed. "But we all really prefer this, I think."

"I'd like parties better too if there were always beetle races. It is very fun."

"It _is_ _very _Narnian."

"And the escort too, I suppose."

"Lady Morgan, you _are_ going to be traveling in a Queen's company. It is for your protection, and to be blunt, hers."

"No, I understand. It's sensible." She absently pulled a loose thread out of her ale, and took a sip. "Sallowpad had Jina tell me the Faun and the flood story earlier."

"He is very astute," Edmund said through a knowing smile. The old Raven would have wanted the House of Linch to understand that Narnia did not rely solely upon the protection of the Divine. He wondered if Susan was involved; the set up had something of her subtle imprint as well.

"Besides, you reserve the right to assign Guards, in Section 5(f)."

His imagination, which had been toying with Evil Banker Morgan's toes and trying to prod the unwilling rest of him back to the palace and the certain outcome with Even More Dim, seized up. In that moment of indecision, his reason was able to shove it out of the way.

"You are correct. That you can cite the treaty covering your stay here bespeaks a certain familiarity with it, Lady Morgan."

"Oh _yes_! I'm _so glad_ you raised it."

Well, that was an _enthusiastic_ endorsement. Of a contract.

Evil Banker Morgan was gushing. "I wasn't sure. I asked Jina, and she wasn't sure, but Jalur and Sallowpad said you did."

"What?" Edmund asked, now completely mystified.

"The contract!" she insisted, now speaking low, with an intense, smoky fervor.

"What about it?"

"Oh, just tell the King, Lady Morgan. You are irritating him."

"Thank you, Jalur," Edmund called back to the hidden Tiger.

"Section 12," the Evil Banker blurted, staring back out into the darkness from where Jalur's voice had come.

So, Evil Banker Morgan was a bit tactless and was now randomly spouting provisions of the standard courtship contract. Except that her citation to Section 12 was not random at all. "Yes, that section describes how a Guard accompanies a Monarch at all times."

His imagination was certain there was something interesting going on here but could not quite puzzle it out as it did not involve sensation; his intellect knew that Section 12 was a very detailed part of the contract and that subsection (bb)(9)-(15) addressed the circumstances of Guard oversight under the most private of circumstances.

"You did it, didn't you? Wrote it? The contract?"

Her breathy words rushed out, intensely ardent and impassioned. About a contract.

"Yes," he thought it was safe to admit, cautiously. Jalur was after all lurking in the dark just out of sight. "It _is_ part of my province."

Evil Banker Morgan settled back. He had not quite noticed how eagerly close she had come during his revelation of this fascinating and alluring morsel. About a contract. There was a whiff of lavender; it did not make his nose itch like the flowers. She looked thoroughly, utterly, satisfied. He had been fantasizing all day about seeing that blissful expression on her face. Edmund had simply not thought that it was a contract that would trigger it. Or that there would be not quite the same degree of satiety for him.

"The first contract I saw was over a year ago; a client from Galma wanted my opinion of it. I _never_ expected to see something that sophisticated from Narnia."

He did feel he had to say, "Lady Morgan, it is _just _a courtship treaty." He almost said "silly," and realized strategically, that was not wise. "I would hardly consider it a substantive matter of Narnian interest."

She snorted as if he was being obtuse. "If you were that smart about how you managed the risks that suitors could pose to Narnian sovereignty, I figured you would be even more strategic in things that mattered more. Are you telling me I was wrong about that?"

Evil Banker Morgan gave him a very arch look. He need not say anything further. She already knew the answer; she had heard the story of the Faun and the flood, and it had not been a warning to her, but a confirmation that the land of talking animals and ridiculously young rulers was far shrewder than would otherwise be expected.

"Because of that _extraordinary_ document, I recommended we begin taking our position. King Edmund. It's been increasing ever since."

"I see."

"Yes," Evil Banker Morgan said, "I should think you would."

So, she had been looking into Narnia for over a year. And was here now, to what, continue her research? Yes, undoubtedly, that was what she had been doing in the Library. She had not disclosed that purpose, but there had not been a space for it in the contract recitals. He would have to remedy that omission. Evil Banker Morgan was here to "Learn the Business of Governance from the Narnian Monarchs," so she stated. Objectively, there was nothing she would learn of business from them. The "governance," however, was another matter, and as awkward and odd as she was, the Evil Banker was probably learning everything she could of the management of Narnia, both for her own personal benefit, and for the benefit of her House.

There was a loud pop as a dead branch deep in the bonfire, split. Brilliant cinders flew up into the dark sky. A pair of Elm Dryads moved toward the fire, silhouetted in the glow. They began tossing their dead bark in to feed it. Edmund's nose immediately rebelled. He sneezed.

Evil Banker Morgan sneezed too.

"Elm is always a problem," Edmund managed, through another sneeze.

She nodded through a handkerchief.

With an apologetic bow that just made it worse, the Elms moved on and Edmund was able to breathe once more.

"I should tell you, by the way, Princess Even More Dim suggested inhaling salt water through the nose to rinse out the pollen. It sounds perfectly foul, but she said it works quite well."

There was a very, very long pause this time. "I can see the theory of that, I suppose. King Edmund."

He could not continue to countenance it; his nerves could not take it. "Really, Lady Morgan, for the sake everyone who hears you, please dispense with all the titles. I know you are unused to them."

"I am sorry," she mumbled staring into her ale. She took a deep breath. "I am always trying to correct myself and not use 'Sir.' I'm having the same problem with Sallowpad now, too."

"I will not speak for him. As for me, truly, use whichever of the many, or none at all. It is fine. So long as it is not, 'Sire,' which really does vex me."

"Jalur probably wouldn't like it if I used 'Royal Lazy Arse,' either."

He laughed. "Others might take exception to that as well."

Out of the darkness, beyond the light of the bonfire, Jalur said in a very irritated tone, "Oh, just be done with it and tell her to call you 'Harold.'"

_Harold? _

Evil Banker Morgan choked on her ale and started coughing into her Crow-tattered sleeve.

"Jalur, what are you talking about?"

"By the Lion, I've had enough. I cannot tolerate listening to the two of you blunder around any further. Good night, your Majesty. Wrasse is on duty. Good evening, Lady Morgan."

"Good night, Sir Jalur," she squeaked, through another cough.

_Harold?_

Fortunately, Evil Banker Morgan stopped coughing and choking. This was good, as he did not want to explain her untimely demise to the House of Linch. It might make them reconsider that position in Narnia.

Edmund turned to her. "Do you know what he meant?"

In a very neutral, flat voice, Evil Banker Morgan said, "From this morning. When you expressed a willingness under some circumstances for any name save, 'father,' 'brother,' and 'Peter.' Jalur was suggesting I call you 'Harold.'"

Edmund felt his rational processes keel right over in the grass and wave a desperate flag of surrender, while his lewd imagination celebrated with an exuberant victory dance. It had been a _very_ trying day.

He wanted to form a brilliant riposte to showcase his rapier wit, astounding intellect, and superior acumen in contracting draftsmanship. Unfortunately, as his reason had given it all up for lost, it was impossible; this unfortunate consequence of the triumph of the carnal over the intellectual being something he really should have foreseen.

And so it was that even before he could close his gaping mouth, Evil Banker Morgan stood. "Judging from the caws, I believe the next races are up. I have three strands of hair and a thread on the beetle with the shiny green and red carapace."

With a swift kick, his wit staggered up after her. Words. "Can you see the shiny green and red carapace?" He found words! Granted, they were about beetles and not about how he would very much like to hear Evil Banker Morgan call him, "Harold," whether in soft, heated whispers or very loud cries.

"They all look quite black to me, I admit."

"Keep an eye on your beetle then. The Crows will cheat."

"So will I." Very. Long. Pause. "King. Edmund."

Evil Banker Morgan walked back toward the racing circle, trailing thread. Edmund watched her disappear into the dark. _Now what?_ He did the only thing a man could do under the circumstances; he drained his wine. _Now what?_

From the other side of the fire, Edmund heard the sounds of the Faun pipes and strings and Dwarf drums. The musicians were back. His wine was gone and he had no one to grope. What a pitiful state.

As he saw it, there were three, no four, options available. He could go find Evil Banker Morgan, lure her away from the Murder, and explore the many ways she might be prevailed upon to call him Harold. He could go find Even More Dim, wake her up, and see if she would call him Harold. He could lie here on the lovely grass, wait for someone to come by with another bottle of wine, and keep drinking. Rationally, however, he knew the most likely and sensible outcome was a private but not at all erotic assignation with the Lone Islands Tax Code and Tree pollen.

Last, he could find out why he was hearing all the laughter behind him in the darkness, coming from the glow of Cair Paravel. Laughter among the Good Beasts and Creatures was as varied as they: chittering of Birds, Rabbits, and Hedgehogs, huffs and wuffs of the Felines and Canines; twitters of the Fauns, loud, hearty guffaws of the Dwarfs and Centaurs.

"Wrasse," Edmund called to his unseen Guard. "What news?"

The Panther's soft, melodic, and amused voice rose, "The Queens, the High King and Jina come."

It was the warrior's instinct, he supposed. Something was amiss. It was an inkling he had had all evening based upon the peculiar waiting expectancy he had perceived in others.

His siblings and Jina came clearly into focus by firelight.

_Oh no._

Lucy was laughing so hard, Peter supported her. Susan had her battle and tourney look; she was at her most serenely and regally victorious. This was indeed a most decisive and devastating triumph for the Gentle Queen.

For with them was Jina, most beloved Lady Hound…

"My Most Royal Brother," Peter said, all mock formality. "We are very sorry indeed to learn that one of Our Narnian Friends has announced her intent to don a corset."

"Jina!" Edmund cried, horrified. "How _could_ you betray me so?!"

"It is quite comfortable," the Hound said. She turned her head about to sniff at the contraption now supporting her sagging belly and dragging teats. "The corset will bear me very well for the next few days. Travel might have been difficult otherwise. The physician approved of its protective properties. He will recommend it for other Good Beasts with similar difficulties."

"Jina," Edmund sputtered through a Most Fierce Scowl.

"Yes, my King?"

"You are a traitorous Bitch."

The Hound wagged her tail; the Canine equivalent of a grin. "Bitch, I am, King Edmund. As for traitorous, the Queen Susan shall plead my case."

The musicians struck up a triumphant tune; the exquisite timing and choice smacked of Susan's advanced management.

Smiling and smug, his sister held out her hands to him. "Tomorrow, we work, Edmund. Having won this round, so thoroughly and at your expense, I _shall_ make every amend insofar as that dragon of a Code is concerned. Tonight, however, we dance."

Edmund allowed himself to be hauled up to his feet, not able to begrudge her the fairly won victory. Susan was brilliant and seldom was able to flaunt her many achievements so publicly. Shame on him for not seeing this one coming. Peter and Lucy had already run headlong into a circle of Fauns to join their four by four. There was laughter, grass under his feet, stars overhead, someone was pouring more wine into his cup, and the music was of the sort that once heard, you could not possibly sit still.

It was not exactly as his imagination might have wished. But, in truth, it was probably better. It was real and lasting, and Edmund was among those he truly loved and who truly loved him in return.

* * *

And so this is where the end has been intended, from the first line, with the loyal, noble Hound revealed as the traitorous Bitch, the promise of allergy relief with a saline nasal rinse, and no corset ban. For there are only two things inevitable in life -- death and taxes. Clotted cream and the greater mysteries that may accompany it are happenstance and by no means assured.

Except, another 6,200 words followed and the Just King and I have been arguing about it.

So, next up, Chapter 8, Offer, Acceptance, Consideration _**Part 2**_


	8. Ch8 Offer, Acceptance, Consideration Pt2

_**By Royal Decree**_

_**Chapter 8 - Offer, Acceptance, Consideration, Part 2  
**The very Narnian Occasion and a traitor is revealed._

_There are three factors necessary to create a contract: 1) an offer made, 2) an acceptance of the offer, and 3) consideration exchanged between the parties. Consideration has to be something of value. These factors must be present for a contract to be enforceable. Excerpted from The New Office Professional's Handbook (4th ed.)._

* * *

"I believe we have outlasted the Dwarfs," Peter said, watching the troop stagger away from their drums toward their bedrolls on the tilting field.

"Not the Fauns, though," Susan said softly.

The gay piping of their flutes was fading, but still could be heard, now deeper in the Wood.

They were all out on the lawn, lying on their backs. Overhead, lovely velvet sky, brilliant stars. The fire was burning low. There was still one more bottle of wine to finish.

"The Dwarfs need their sleep if they are taking you and the Princesses tomorrow," Lucy said, giggling, "which is really today now."

"I do hope it rains," Edmund added.

"The odds of that are three to two against, King Edmund," a voice came from the darkness, and devolved into Evil Banker Morgan. "I'm sure I could find a Crow who would take that wager."

She was listing a bit, whether from the ale or the Crows on either shoulder, it was hard to say.

"Morgan!" Lucy called. "Come, join us! We didn't know you were still up!"

"Friend Crows!" In Peter's voice, they all heard the hint of Command. "Perhaps it is time to return to your Roost?"

With some indignant squawking, the two, Edmund could not make out which two, but they were young, launched off Morgan's shoulders. Their wings fouled in her hair and their claws were still gripping her gown.

"Good night Your Majesties!" they cracked.

"Good bye, Friends!" Evil Banker Morgan cried with a wave. "Better luck tomorrow!"

Lucy held out a hand, gesturing Evil Banker Morgan to her side. "Come! We are glad to see you still have a hair on your head and a gown on your back!"

Evil Banker Morgan came more fully into the light and even to Edmund's eye, she was quite bedraggled. She flopped down between Lucy and Susan, and then winced.

"Are you well, Lady Morgan?" Susan asked, noticing the twitch.

"Very," she murmured. "My pockets are filled with Crow Shinys and Pretties. Some of them are sharp."

She edged closer to the fire and it did seem that Crows had not merely combed her hair, but also nested in it. Her gown of indeterminate green was unraveling at the hem and sleeves, with presumably rather less unseen silvery thread than it once had. From her pockets, Evil Banker Morgan pulled out a wad of handkerchiefs and an assortment of bits and bobs, wires, and nuggets. The Shinys and Pretties glinted on the grass in the light of the fire.

"You bartered!" Peter exclaimed. "With the Crows!?"

Why were they surprised, Edmund wondered. Not-a-Lady Morgan of the House of Linch was, in fact, an Evil Banker. He recognized a fair number of his gifts to the Crows in the assortment. Morgan spread out a handkerchief and began placing each tiny piece carefully into its folds.

"My compliments on a rapacious Murder of Crows. I would hire them for my House in a moment."

"Good wages, too," Edmund said, "if you can grow your hair fast enough."

"I think your gown may be ruined, Lady Morgan," Susan said, examining the very ragged hem. "I am sorry. We'll see what we may do about that."

"I understand from Chief Sallowpad I am fortunate I have the gown at all. The Crows had considered making off with it when I was in the Pond."

It was the sort of thing that might have been said with outrage. Instead, Evil Banker Morgan laughed and allowed the rest of them to laugh with her.

"Still, that would have been very ill treatment for a guest, Lady Morgan," Peter said. "We will speak to them about it."

"It would have been a long way back with nothing but a towel!" Lucy giggled again. She was, Edmund thought, a wee bit tipsy.

Edmund glanced over at Peter to determine if his brother was as affected as he had been by the prospect of Evil Banker Morgan without her gown of indeterminate green. Peter seemed attentive, intrigued even. But who could not be impressed by someone who outwitted Otters and wagered with Crows?

He blew out an aggravated breath. Edmund had thoroughly enjoyed the last hour or two; now, it seemed all the heavenly contentedness was dribbling away again.

"I am just glad they did not because otherwise I would have only had my hair to bargain with tonight and then I might be bald." Evil Banker Morgan whispered conspiratorially, "Don't tell them, but when I depart I will just give the gown to them and let them shred it."

"That is very magnanimous of you, Lady Morgan," Peter said, that admiring tone in his voice again.

Edmund snorted, and saw the smirk on Evil Banker Morgan's face. "It's not magnanimous at all, Peter. Lady Morgan shall make the Crows bargain for each unseen silver thread until she departs and then flood the market thereafter."

"You understand my thinking very well. King Edmund." She was doing the odd pauses again, but now they were making his imagination summersault. Into her soiled handkerchief, Evil Banker Morgan folded her Pretties and Shinys, the booty of her haul among Crows, and stowed them back in her pocket.

"Look!" Lucy exclaimed. "The Wood is beginning to move!"

"Already?" Peter propped himself up on his elbows and squinted into the dark. A low, rustling sound began to fill the air.

And so it was, with sinking heart and itching nose, that Edmund knew it was time for him to head indoors. The Dryads were awakening and would begin their Dance, to the tunes of the distant Faun flutes and a rhythm as old as Aslan's First Song that called Narnia into being. If he ever wanted to breathe tomorrow, he could not be out when the Oak, Elm, Beech, Birch, and other Trees danced.

Lucy jumped to her feet. "Susan, are you coming tonight?"

Susan took her sister's offered hand. "Yes, I shall. After today's events, most definitely. Peter?"

The High King was already standing, scanning the Trees that were beginning to stretch and whisper, bowing and swaying to their Monarchs. Edmund felt them close in, the darkness around them growing darker.

Edmund quickly gathered the few scattered plates on the lawn; at least he could do something useful and bring them inside.

Lucy held her hands out to Evil Banker Morgan. "Will you join us, Morgan? It is delightful."

"I would like to! Thank you!" Lady Morgan climbed to her feet, her pockets jangling.

On hearing this, his fevered, thoroughly overworked imagination gave a yelp for the devastating loss of an expectation that had been totally unfounded in the first instance, and crawled away into a cave, mewling pitifully. It was never coming out again. His glum mood turned glummer still.

It was Peter who gave him the hand up, helping him balance the plates. "I am sorry, Ed," he said quietly.

Edmund shrugged. There was nothing to say. He had forgotten this would happen and should have gone in earlier to avoid this awkwardness. No one was to blame and he did not want his siblings' pity, nor wish them to feel guilt over their own enjoyment. He edged over to Lady Morgan. "Lucy, Su, excuse me, I'd just like a word?" The three of them were already arm in arm.

Lady Morgan followed him two steps away; Edmund knew his siblings would pretend to ignore them. "Are you sure about this?" he asked quietly. "The pollen can get very thick."

"You aren't coming?"

"No, I couldn't possibly."

"Oh."

Edmund's fertile imagination was too depressed to even try to concoct some fantasy in which Evil Banker Morgan might have sounded a teensy bit disappointed.

"How bad does it get?" She was chewing on her lip, the sight of which would have, earlier in the day, sent him off into a paroxysm of lascivious glee. "Because I really do want to go."

"For me, it is intolerable. For you, maybe not."

"I'll try it then."

He stepped away, juggling plates of tin. His sisters each looped one of Lady Morgan's arms in their own; Peter sidled up next to Lucy, putting an arm over her shoulders, that was just long enough to encompass Lady Morgan as well. The four swayed together toward the whisper of the Gathering Wood.

Edmund made his slow way up the marbled front steps to the doors, trying very hard to not feel thoroughly sorry for himself. His Night Guard, Wrasse, the Panther, fell in with him. Turning around, he could just make out, by the light of the fading fires, human shapes dancing in the darkness amid the waving Tree Dryads, graceful Birch, stately, clean limbed Beech, venerable Oak. Then the Trees swallowed them all.

Distantly, he heard strange drums, wailing flutes, and faint, wild cries. Perhaps Bacchus himself, his maenads and Silenius were about. It would be the night for it. He needed to get indoors, close all the windows, pull his head under a blanket, and not think about anything, certainly not the joyous celebrations of Aslan's Good Creation out on the lawn and beyond.

It was not a permanent sundering. He knew that. Emotionally, though, he could not help but feel a bit bereft. Pathetic, really, but there was nothing for it. In another few weeks, this period would end, Spring giving way to Summer and the life working so very hard to be created would concentrate more on growing and leave his head, nose, and lungs, alone.

"To bed, your Majesty?" Wrasse asked.

"I suppose." Edmund did not bother hiding the gloom he felt as he turned back and trudged the last steps.

"Will the Lady Morgan be well?" the Black Panther queried. "I heard you ask her about the pollen?"

"She has allergies, as I do. I'm actually surprised she went. I…" Edmund, at that moment, truly hated his weakness. "I would not be able to do so."

In a voice full of feline concern, Wrasse asked, "Should I have someone go out to escort her, or perhaps wake a physician for when she returns?"

"She will be fine, Wrasse. It's very irritating, but not life-threatening."

Edmund was heading inside, but had to turn back around for his Guard. Wrasse stopped at the landing to the Hall entrance, and pivoted about to stare into the darkness of the Trees. The Panther's tail snaked slowly back and forth; her yellow eyes gleamed, pinpoints light.

"You are troubled, Wrasse?" Edmund asked, though the politeness cost him sorely.

"I am, King Edmund. I know how uncomfortable you have been these nights. Everyone is abed. When Lady Morgan returns, there will be no one to assist her."

"She will be with my Sisters, and the High King, and their Guards. She will be fine, Wrasse."

The Panther's tail lashed more quickly, signaling her disagreement. "Their Majesties will be out for several hours yet. If she is near sensitive as you, King Edmund, Lady Morgan will return much sooner."

With a dull sigh, Edmund could see that Wrasse was likely correct. He remembered vividly how he had felt when he had tried the same thing. "That is very solicitous of you, Wrasse. It would not have occurred to me." It was also, he realized sullenly, the sort of consideration for a guest that Lucy, Susan, and Peter probably all would have thought of.

Being reminded of manners by a member of the Night Guard was a bit off-putting of course, yet this concern was not that unusual for them. In comparison to the day Palace Guard, the Beasts of the Night Guard were older, very experienced, and highly sensitive to the currents and tensions about them. They took a broader view of their protective duty and saw the well being for the whole of the Palace at night as their responsibility.

The dining room was lit by a single wall torch, throwing broad flickers across the walls, casting huge shadows. "I'll get something out for her." Edmund deposited the tin plates he had carried up from the lawn on a sideboard. From the cupboard, he took out several towels and two cups and went back into the scullery. Another torch illuminated it and the adjacent kitchens. It was dark, cool, and smelled faintly spicy. The bread pans were all laid out on a far counter. He supposed the bakers would be up soon to get things in order, heat the ovens and start the bread. Or perhaps, even they would sleep late.

Remembering what he had needed the times he had tried what Lady Morgan was attempting, he moved a sloshing bucket of clean water to the center table and set the towels near. He put water in the cups, knowing what his throat felt like after a bad Dryad night, and after some rooting around in the darkness and examining white substances, found salt and added it to one of the cups. Even More Dim's salt water rinse while bizarre, had seemed sound in theory.

He hopped up on the table to sit and wait, wishing he could not hear and feel the sweet, wild music of the Dryad dance.

Edmund did not know how much time went by, but it was long enough for him to recount every tiresome moment of the day and consider how much he did not look forward to a week buried in taxes, even with Susan's aid. Having already fallen asleep once at a table today, he did not want to repeat the Library experience with a similar one in the scullery. The towels, he supposed, would be softer than the books.

"Well, Wrasse, perhaps I should leave a note?"

The Panther, who had been lying down quietly, swung her head toward the front doors, her ears flicking back and forth.

"She comes!" Wrasse said softly, and rising, padded noiselessly back out into the front hall. After a few moments, he heard muffled voices, a hurried footstep, and then Lady Morgan stumbled into the scullery, leaning on Wrasse's neck.

The pollen was so strong on her, Edmund sneezed the moment she stepped through the doorway.

"Lady Morgan, in here," he called in the dimness. He tried to guide her around the table, but his sneezing joined hers.

She gave him a shove, back to the other side of the table. "Stay away," she croaked, sounding very like a Raven. "No need for you to be stupid as well."

She hurried to the waiting station. "Thank you," she gasped, grabbing a towel. She dunked it into the bucket, wrung it out, and began wiping the pollen off her face.

Edmund circled to the other side of the table, far enough away that his eyes stopped watering. "It's nothing. Wrasse and I were surprised you managed as long as you did. Did you get to enjoy it all?"

"Oh yes, at the beginning it was absolutely wonderful." He heard a quaver in her voice, and he understood precisely the frustration of wanting to be there, and not being able to do so. With a bit more force than was strictly necessary, she dumped the towel again into the bucket, and repeated the process.

"Based on the _Botanica_, I'd thought that being with the female Trees would help. It was manageable, at first, but then something hit me like a snow storm."

"Were you near a Birch Tree?"

She shrugged. "Near enough, why?"

"That sounds like a particular Silver Birch Dryad. She's very enthusiastic this time of year, and might have taken a liking to you. She is also, regrettably, self-pollinating."

Morgan snorted then wiped her face and looked at the towel with disgust. "I shouldn't have gone. You were right."

Now he shrugged. "There is no satisfaction in it, to be sure. I've tried what you did several times over the years. Last year, even. I keep hoping that something will change, but it does not."

"I was near blind and with what mind I had left, I tried to stumble to the Otter Pond for a dunk. I've been going there every day, and washing does help."

_Well that makes rather a lot of more sense than secret letter drops. _

"But you would have to go through the Trees to get there, and then through them again to leave, rather defeating the whole purpose of it."

Morgan set down her wet towel and began trying to untangle her hair with her fingers. Edmund felt his nose itch, even from the distance. She sneezed.

"Well, I am a mess," she commented through one of her dry laughs. "It was bad enough with Crows sifting through my hair for Shinys. You don't have a comb, do you?"

"No, sorry."

"Nothing for it." Taking a deep breath, Morgan dunked her head into the bucket and came up sloshing. Edmund handed her another towel from across the table.

"Thank you. That ought to help."

"There's water there, for drinking," he said pointing to the one cup. "The other is salt water, in case you want to give Even More Dim's novel rinse a go."

Slinging the towel over her neck, she took both cups. "If you will excuse me a moment, I will. I really wish I could just decapitate myself.

From the sinks in the back, he heard an enormous sneeze and a few moments later, absolutely vile sounds that ended up with spitting. "I say," she cried. "It is revolting, but it does work. Let's give Even More Dim a dividend!"

She really was very odd.

Morgan returned from the back, vigorously toweling her hair. "It isn't fair, is it?"

"No," he agreed, propped up against the door jam. "Not remotely."

"They are all out there, part of this incredible event, and …" the rest of her words were muffled through the towel. "How do you stand it?"

"I don't. I have been ill tempered and in a foul mood. I'm usually in bed, with a pillow over my head, pretending it is not happening."

"Well, you certainly have cause; I'm annoyed, and I've only been here a few days. I'm not trying to solve the Tax Code in a week either."

The frank support was cheering. Still, "It's really just indulgent self-pity," Edmund had to admit. "I know that this does not last forever. It's a few weeks of difficulty and it would be churlish indeed to resent the pleasure of others because it is inconvenient for me."

She laughed, more happily. The dousing had obviously helped and his own nose was no longer itching. "You speak as you write."

Morgan was trying to wipe down her gown to remove the surface pollen clinging to her, but it was to little avail. "This is really not going to work."

Edmund began gathering up the other damp towels and tossed them into the laundry basket on the floor. "Best thing is to just shuck off that gown, the first chance you have."

"Oh," he heard her say after a very long pause, during which Edmund realized belatedly that there were several ways his comment might be interpreted. "Yes, I suppose I should do that."

Again, far and haunting, there was an echo of pounding drums and a cry of flutes carrying deep, stirring whispers on the breeze.

Morgan craned her neck to look outside the scullery window; there was nothing to be seen but the orange glow of the bonfire dying in the night. "What is that? I heard it before."

"I don't know. I thought it might be Bacchus and his maenads."

"Really? Not being out there just gets worse and worse." She made a disgruntled harrumphing sound. "I read about them. It sounded fantastic. Have you ever seen them?"

"No, not yet. I hope they are not out there tonight, because I do not wish to miss them."

She sagged away from the window, twisting the towel in her hand. "It's so unfair," she muttered. "You're the Just King. Shouldn't this be within your province?"

"Even under a highly expansive interpretation of My Just Authority, I have learned today, and rather pointedly, just how limited it may be."

"Yes, about that thwarted corset ban." She absently tried brushing her gown off again. "I suspect that under section eight, I am required to notify you that Jina was not the only traitorous bitch."

"I had assumed at least one co-conspirator to get her into it," Edmund said, smiling in spite of himself at the image of the noble Hound Bitch in a corset. The episode had renewed his sense of humor, which had likely been one of Susan's many objectives. "No opposable thumbs."

"Rather more than one co-conspirator," she said, looking up, smiling slyly. "We had to help her try on several different sizes. As it turns out, Jina is wearing my corset."

He laughed, now having confirmation of what she and Jina had been up to with his sisters. Adult supervision indeed; Edmund wondered just whose idea it had been and decided he did not want to know. The fact that Jina was wearing Evil Banker Morgan's corset, however, had some interesting implications in their present situation. His poor, abused imagination, that had previously slunk off to bed thoroughly depressed sat upright and begin nosing about hopefully.

"You cost me a corset-free Narnia!"

"Well, Queen Susan would have found something to serve, regardless, but yes, I suppose I did." She hesitated, twisting the towel again her hands. "I'm a bit concerned about it, actually."

"And why is that?"

He hoped she would bite her lip again; it was becoming more difficult not to stare. His imagination was impatiently whining about the talking and was all for shucking off the gown here and now. His intellect, perceiving a very promising undercurrent, told his imagination to shut it and let him concentrate if it wanted any sort of a satisfactory end to the evening.

"I am worried that participating in so traitorous an action may have brought me in breach of the contract covering my stay here."

"Section 14, Violations and Prohibited Acts?"

She nodded, drawing her lips between her teeth.

"Well," Edmund drawled out. He closed the distance just slightly, resting a hip on the table, considering the _many_ _different ways_ this might be resolved. "Assuming there is a breach, and I am not sure that there is, there are a number of options specified for its remedy."

She rattled off the alternatives from Section 17. "Rescission, mitigation, remediation, compensation, waiver."

"Let's take monetary compensation off the table immediately, yes?

"Can we eliminate rescission as well?" she asked hopefully.

"As rescission would result in your expulsion from Narnia, I do not see that as viable at all. Sallowpad would be furious with me, the Crows would wish to murder me, and Lucy would finish what they did not. As the Lead Hound of Our Royal Pack is wearing your corset, Jina would have something to say about it, Susan would accuse me of unfair retaliation, and Peter would scold me for an overly legalistic action at the expense of good manners."

"Yes, I suppose."

As his imagination cuffed him on the side of the head with a tin plate, Edmund remembered to add firmly, "And I would not wish it either."

"Oh," Evil Banker Morgan said, now looking far more relieved, "I see."

"Yes," Edmund replied. "I do hope that you do."

Pushing wet, Crow-combed hair away from her face, Evil Banker Morgan said, "So, that leaves mitigation, remediation, and waiver."

"It does. Do you have a suggestion for remedying the breach, assuming there is one?"

"Well," she said slowly, testing the waters of this offer. "Jalur did suggest that you permit me to call you Harold. Assuming performance of other actions related to my calling you by the name of Harold, might that suffice to remedy the breach?"

So, there was the offer, convoluted, but plain enough. His imagination was thoroughly fed up. It did not want an offer on the scullery table. It wanted Evil Banker Morgan on the scullery table. His intellect knew better. He needed to accept the offer, and only then could they move to the _valuable_ _exchange_.

"That would be _more_ than sufficient, indeed a highly desirous outcome, if you so will. I would express my enthusiasm in a more demonstrative way, but there would follow much sneezing and coughing."

She smiled brightly and renewed her efforts to clean her gown, even more vigorously than before. His imagination wanted to help; his intellect told him there would be too much sneezing. "You don't mind Harold, do you? Jalur seemed to approve."

"Jalur is very perceptive. And, as I said before, it is no one's business, but our own." To that point, he really needed to add this before his imagination caught up with the new understanding and ran off into the larder to look for clotted cream, "Before you start calling me Harold, I assume there would be no compromise to the position of the House of Linch?"

Of course he wanted Evil Banker Morgan in any number of highly compromising positions and fervently hoped she was not a Lady at all.

Her mouth quirked into something rather satisfied. She shook her head and deposited her towel in the basket. "No. Your extraordinary contract seemed to contemplate this outcome as a possibility."

"Yes, it does." He held out a hand to her from across the table and Morgan – yes, he could call her that now, although he still liked the title Evil Banker – took his hand in her own, coming around the table.

At that, Wrasse, who had been sitting silently, stood, and padded out of the scullery. Morgan's eyes followed the Panther.

"Section 12(bb) addresses Guard oversight in these circumstances, doesn't it?"

His imagination had to jump down off the table where it had been cavorting and give his intellect a prod.

"I'm afraid so. There's nothing really to be done about it."

"The Faun and the flood, again."

"Yes."

"Guard shall be within hearing distance; doors shall not be locked," she murmured, tracing the sword and quill calluses of his hand with her fingers. When his nose started twitching, he knew the exact moment when her pollen-soaked gown of indeterminate green was too close.

"Drat," Evil Banker Morgan said. "I do not remember the precise, elegant way you described it. There was a remarkable allowance for the hearing abilities of different Guards."

His imagination was very confused. It thought they were done with all this. There should not be any more talking. Doing! Touching! Moving! Sounds! The only words it wanted to hear were "more," "faster," "you are amazing", and "let's do that again." His intellect, however, preened with such words as "precise," "elegant," and "remarkable."

Edmund pulled her along to the kitchen desk. "If you don't mind, I want to leave a note for Mr. Hoberry before we move on."

Releasing her fingers, he quickly found a parchment scrap and charcoal. "Tea or coffee?"

Her hands were now resting on his back, and he felt when she and the pollen drew closer to read the note in the dimness. They really needed to do something about the gown. "Tea. Extra honey, if you would."

"Oh?"

"A persistent whim," she said, not quite as enigmatically as perhaps she might have thought. His imagination considered this and began happily paddling about in sticky, sweet honey. "No milk, of course."

Edmund added to the request for a very late tea tray for two, the flourish, _"Clotted cream, if possible." _Folding the note, he set it on the ledge.

"Harold?"

He turned back around, her hands trailing. "Yes?"

"With all this discussion of sections eight, 12, 14 and 17, and this newly negotiated remediation, I would very much like to review the contract." Pause, though this one was to kiss his fingertips. "With you."

His imagination wailed. It did not want to talk about corsets and contracts; it was very impatient to confirm that there was nothing except Evil Banker Morgan under Evil Banker Morgan's unraveling and pollen-filled gown of indeterminate green with rather less unseen pretty thread.

His reason, however, rallied to the occasion. "Section 19, as well, on addenda and modification?"

Evil Banker Morgan nodded. "Perhaps, Harold, we should review of the whole of the contract. Very. Thoroughly."

His intellect cackled with glee, taunting the highly charged imagination and gladly stepping to the fore. _If you think you are going to manage this without me, you are a great fool._

***

Wrasse hadn't been quite sure who Harold was, at first. The conversation had been very elliptical, so it took her a bit longer than usual to perceive when it was time to physically exit the scene. Nor did she understand their trip to the Library to collect some parchment from King Edmund's strong box. She well knew what was typical, and this situation was peculiar. Because it was so unusual, she did make a point of listening in to the rather extensive discussion of titles, subtitles, definitions, representations and warranties, remedies, and damages. It was bizarre, and took a very long time, but after attending to their talk, and becoming thoroughly bored with it, she concluded it was not dangerous.

Eventually, they did move on to King Edmund's rooms, and although there was still a lot of talking about contracts, things did finally settle into something more customary. At that point she was able to focus on her usual job of filtering out the detritus, and sensing only for anything signaling a danger. She wasn't expecting any difficulty, though. Wrasse knew this business well and had indeed used that skill to prevent some serious mishaps in the past when the Monarchs had been younger, and less experienced in identifying duplicity. It was she who had primarily developed the existing protocol for such things now.

She would make a report on this to Jalur and Jina first when they came back on duty and Jina came looking for her charge. Jalur's briefing to her at the Guard change of earlier had been frustratingly brief. "King Edmund is being a Royal Arse about Lady Morgan."

King Edmund had been very difficult these two weeks passed, and today had promised no better, what with that episode at breakfast involving Even More Dim and the ewer of juice. So, it was with no small amount of concern when Jalur had reported that Lady Morgan had been in the Library all morning with King Edmund and he had not made her cry or pack her trunk and catch the next ship out. Lady Willa had heard High King Peter discuss this unusual event with Queen Susan after luncheon. While the Monarchs had been a bit vague, (really, why couldn't humans speak more plainly about such matters?) it became clear what they both thought was going on, and they were concerned that King Edmund might indeed start acting like a Royal Arse about Lady Morgan. That wasn't exactly what they had said, but it was close enough. Lady Willa then reported this to Jalur and Jina.

After spending some time with Lady Morgan and discussing her habits with Teddy the Rat Buck, Jina had been able to provide better insight. Once explained by the knowledgeable, sensitive Hound, it was obvious to any Beast who could smell and see. Lady Morgan was not comfortable in a human Pack. She was more like a Tiger than a Hound or Wolf, but she expressed herself like a Crow. Jina had had to explain to Queen Susan that Lady Morgan smelling like soap was a good thing as this meant she didn't smell of conflict and dual purposes the way people like the Princesses did. By Aslan, some of these visitors to the castle so reeked of confusion, conflict, and deception, it made the hair of every Beast with a nose stand on end.

Jina also sensed that King Edmund liked Lady Morgan very much, and in this she concurred with Jalur's view that the Just King was indeed being a Royal Arse, although the diplomatic Hound did not put it in quite so blunt of terms. "King Edmund is going to make a mess of this if he isn't careful." The Hound was frustrated with Lady Morgan as well, who could suddenly turn all quiet whenever another human was near her and had become very strange when she was with King Edmund. Yet, all the Good Beasts could sense that Lady Morgan liked King Edmund quite a lot. She liked Queen Lucy and Queen Susan too, though not as much as King Edmund. The High King made her very nervous.

Jina and Jalur both had been concerned when Lady Morgan had some inkling that King Edmund had followed Even More Dim into the Wood. They all knew how King Edmund felt about Even More Dim, and that it was not of any particular consequence, but Lady Morgan didn't know that. Lady Morgan had made some dire threats under her breath directed at Even More Dim that, of course, Jina overheard completely, didn't quite comprehend, and repeated to Sallowpad. The Raven had said that Even More Dim had better hope that Lady Morgan didn't carry the threats out as the financial consequences could be very severe, whatever that meant.

The Beasts tried to be understanding, since they knew that humans could be very, very peculiar during courtship and mating seasons. Humans were especially talented at turning something that was really quite simple into a truly complicated debacle. Jalur had become so irritated about it all, he had probably interfered more than he ought to have. But, the Tiger had endured it all day, and indeed had borne the brunt of King Edmund's irritability for the last few weeks. Wrasse certainly understood Jalur's frustration after bearing with it only that evening. At least twice, Wrasse herself had been tempted to say, "Oh just get you both to the privacy of someone's bedchamber and work this out, would you?" She had to remember that they really did not have her senses, and so could not and did not perceive the other as she did.

It was on these and related points that Sallowpad had spoken to her and to Jina before he retired. He had been very interested in Jina's assessment that Lady Morgan's odd manner was likely due to her discomfort in a human Pack and that it could easily be mistaken for conflict or even treachery if one were inclined to think that way. It didn't mean she was loyal, but it likely meant that she was not disloyal. If this was indeed the case, Sallowpad said it was a very good thing for Narnia; of course he did not elaborate further on what sounded to be Rat and Crow business. He had personally confirmed that Lady Morgan was very comfortable with the Crows, got on with Jina, even managed the Otters, and agreed that perhaps it was humans who were a difficulty for her.

Sallowpad also thought that King Edmund found it much easier to distrust than to trust a person, and that while this often was useful, in a case such as this, it could be a problem too. The Raven was concerned that King Edmund would all unwittingly make an enemy when he should have been recognizing an ally. He said they should take such steps as necessary to prevent that from happening. Wrasse had understood that instruction plainly enough, and so had done what she could to move the interaction between Lady Morgan and King Edmund on to a more cordial basis, which judging from the sounds, was going well enough in that direction.

Wrasse knew that Sallowpad was to accompany Lady Morgan to the Telmar basin with Queen Lucy, and the Raven probably would have preferred to have judged Lady Morgan more himself in that setting first, before encouraging the friendlier relations to _quite _this degree. Still, Sallowpad knew that as a Raven, he was not as attentive to these things, and so had deferred to her judgment, and that of Jalur and Jina. If the Raven had had any misgivings, they of course would not have permitted things to develop as they were. However, their combined careful scrutiny had revealed much that was odd about Lady Morgan, but nothing that was concerning. Further, there had been the ongoing issue of King Edmund's uncertain Spring temperament and the Beasts had all agreed that more actively pursuing such opportunities as presented themselves, such as Lady Morgan, would make all their lives and nerves a bit easier. And so, Wrasse being an experienced Cat in these matters, observed Lady Morgan, agreed with Jina and Jalur, and, seeing the opening, pushed King Edmund to take it. Happily, the situation was resolving itself.

Fooh and Beehn had been very excited to tell her what they had learned from Jalur that day, and they had many more questions. She was able to answer some and referred them to the physician for others. They did tell her that they had asked High King Peter why he wouldn't do what he'd been doing with Dryad with Lady Morgan instead, as she wouldn't hit them with catkins and she didn't smell all confusing the way that the Princess Dim and Even More Dim did. The High King had told them very sternly that he had no intention of doing any such thing with Lady Morgan, and that they should mind their own business – which was why they had come to tell her _all_ about it. Wrasse sighed a bit over that. The cubs were very young. She then suggested to Fooh and Beehn that perhaps the High King suspected that Lady Morgan liked someone else, or suspected someone else liked her, and being the wise man that he was, the High King was himself staying out of the business, and expected His Guard to do the same. This had not occurred to the cubs. They had yet to learn that humans really preferred the pretense of privacy, even though with more perceptive Beasts everywhere, such a thing really wasn't possible.

Wrasse settled herself down in the dark hallway of Cair Paravel, reaching out with her Cat senses so attuned to the night. Nothing was amiss. With a twitch of her ears, she distantly heard beyond the walls, the drums, flutes, and cries. _Euan Euan Oi Oi Oi Oi. _Of course it was Bacchus and his maenads, Silenius and … there, that sound, the braying of his donkey. Just because you could not see them did not mean they were not there, somewhere, summoning the bounty of Narnia as they danced, wild, boundless, free, and bare, among the waving, sighing Trees. Their passion stirred even her old blood.

Poor humans. No fur or feathers, no sight like the bird, nor nose of the hound, nor speed of the cheetah, nor perception of a cat. Formidable intellects to be sure, but really, was it any wonder they blundered about so, sometimes? Should they not try a little harder to perceive with their hearts?

Wrapping her tail about her body, Wrasse rested her head on her paws. She would wait, and watch, listen, protect, and guard, a silent witness to the dark Narnian Spring night.

***

_End_

* * *

I hadn't intended to end it like that, as the only two things that really are certain in life are death and taxes. I would also add seasonal allergies. Yet, a basic principle of this particular vision is that Good Beasts of Narnia are Beasts, and possessing those remarkable faculties that humans do not even have the vocabulary to describe. It then logically follows that the young Monarchs may sometimes be a step or two behind their innately more intuitive, sensitive and occasionally conniving subjects.

Of course, I had also considered having Evil Banker Morgan attempt to lobby the Narnian treasury on behalf of the banking industry for bailout funds as part of a stimulus package, losing her job as an investment banker, or trying to enter Narnia under the false pretenses of wishing to be in a management training program.

Thank you all for your reading. This is more than a bit irreverent, and at times, as my fingers were poised over the keyboard, I wondered if I really was going to do what I did.

Thank you for the kind reception and critical commentary.

RthStewart May 2009


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